


Dream Catchers

by froekenpest



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Case Fic, Curse Breaker Harry Potter, M/M, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Potions Master Draco Malfoy, Slow Burn, Thriller
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2018-07-09
Packaged: 2018-10-29 03:46:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 45,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10845837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/froekenpest/pseuds/froekenpest
Summary: Harry's life has become somewhat of a comfortable routine. That is, until a certain Draco Malfoy returns to London after fifteen years. Buffoonery of all kind ensues, and both are better for it.





	1. Fifteen Years Later

**Author's Note:**

> thank you @sappypotter and @decanthrope for your invaluable advice, and especially patience <3

 

_ Thursday, October 4th _

 

Harry Potter emerged from the living room's floo at Number 12 Grimmauld Place late in the evening. The house was dark, and the floorboards creaked eerily in the quiet as he climbed out of the hearth. Yawning, he dropped his grey duffel bag and travel coat onto the worn sofa. He stretched his back with a loud crack, and started towards the kitchen. He didn’t bother turning on the lights. After weeks of exhaustive travelling, it was solely the prospect of a bathroom without decorative mold between the tiles and of a real, non-transfigured bed that were keeping him alive. He entered the kitchen and briefly looked around, and was satisfied to see nothing had spontaneously exploded while he’d been gone. He’d have welcomed a warm supper, but the refrigerator and the stove held an endless feud revolving around Harry’s alleged favouritism. On cue, his stomach growled pitifully. Harry however couldn't find it in himself to invest the remainder of his meagre energy into an impromptu diplomatic exercise - it was too much work  for a bowl of pasta, what with the current content of his cupboard.

He decided to engage with the hostile kitchen appliances at a more opportune moment, and instead reached for Teddy's cereal. Sluggishly, he poured the multicoloured loops into the first thing he could grab before the cupboard woke up and greeted him by shutting the door with Harry's hand still inside. He managed to persuade the fridge into opening enough for him to snatch the milk. Harry gave the bottle an unnecessary experimental sniff. Having enchanted appliances certainly had its perks - after three weeks, the milk still didn’t present a health hazard. Satisfied, Harry poured it over the cereal. He looked for a spoon when the mug suddenly started wailing in alarm.

Perhaps Harry should have expected he'd pick the only mug in his possession that hated getting wet.

The Meowing Mug had been a gift from Luna for his birthday two years ago. Harry had thought it was cute, but also realised that it was a dig at the crazy-cat-bachelor situation which was evidently becoming his ultimate fate. He smiled, and shook his head at that particular memory. He rather preferred being called “ invested in his career” or a “ devoted godfather ”, but to no avail. So far no amount of pointing out that Harry wasn't in fact guilty of owning any cats, or of playing bridge in his free time seemed to come across as a valid contrary argument to the accusations. To be fair, ever since ending their relationship with Ginny, with a few rare exceptions the closest Harry came to dating was when he chatted up the ladies from the Ministry’s administration offices in order to accelerate the bureaucratic machine, so maybe his friends did have a point. The mug meowed, making Harry grimace.

Chewing the milk-soaked sugar loops, Harry quickly leafed through the small pile of mail waiting on the kitchen table.  Most of the owls caught up to him abroad, so the remaining post consisted mostly of outdated Quibblers (" Crumple-Horned Snorkacks 101: Subscriber's content Only! "), several invitations to pretentious Ministry events that he had no intention of attending, and along with a sleeping scops owl on the back of a kitchen chair, two fairly recent letters. They were still damp from the continuous drizzle outside. Harry first took the envelope sealed with the Hogwarts emblem, and leaning against the kitchen island he frowned in reluctant interest. Unless Teddy singed off Slughorn's toupee again, it must have meant McGonagall's job proposal for the guest teacher position still stood. McGonagall relentlessly insisted that Harry would be the ideal supervisor for the seventh-years' practical classes in Defense Against the Dark Arts. She argued that if Harry had been a good teacher at fifteen, surely he could live up to the standard as an adult. The classes were a part of an experimental curriculum she had been working on for some time, and Harry was to take the job for a year at first. If the classes turned out to be a success, the position would open permanently. Should Harry decide he didn't wish to continue teaching after all, he could leave "anytime, of course". According to McGonagall's plan, the curriculum would be implemented no sooner than by next September, so Harry still had plenty of time to reconsider.

Knocking down the leftover milk, Harry carefully put the letter aside. He made a mental note to stop making excuses and live up to Gryffindor values. The trouble with McGonagall's argument was that she was right: Harry was good at teaching, and he did enjoy it. He was sure that if he gave in and participated in her project, he'd end up remaining at Hogwarts for good. He just wasn't convinced that he wanted to give up the relative freedom and excitement of curse-breaking for a teacher's job yet. Giving Voldemort a post-mortem nose job seemed by far more appealing than outright declining McGonagall’s offer, but there seemed to be no other way around it. As soon as the Quidditch season launched, he would drop by to cheer on his godson, and was resolved to pay the headmistress a visit after. Despite McGonagall’s best efforts, Harry still felt like an awkward teenager around his old transfiguration teacher, and he absolutely refused to call her Minerva ever.

Harry rinsed the now frantically meowing mug until it reached the self-approved level of cleanliness, and he stifled another yawn as he put it away on the counter. Unenthusiastically, he opened the second envelope bearing the seal of the Ministry of Magic. Seeing as he just returned from a tedious job in Cardiff, Harry wasn't exactly eager to get involved with a new case just yet. When he uncrumpled the wet parchment, Harry relaxed and sat down. The letter turned out to be just a short, tea-stained note from the current Head Auror in Charge:

 

_ Harry, _

_ I hope you had a safe trip! I know you're not supposed to come in until Monday, but if you could spare some time, see me in my office tomorrow. Also, consider yourself invited for dinner and a pint after work, Hermione insists. Cheers! _

_ Ron _

 

Harry groaned internally; as soon as he'd set foot in the Ministry, he would definitely get sucked into the constant whirlwind of unfinished work that roamed the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. In spite of being an affiliated agent rather than a regular Ministry employee, it still felt like there was a tether closing around Harry’s neck whenever he entered his tiny cubicle. On the other hand, Ron had likely a good reason to call him in on a day off. Ultimately, the selling point was bribing Harry with food and drink; it worked like a charm every time. Perhaps the only, but crucial flaw of Ron’s strategy was involving Hermione with the menu: for all her social efforts related to elvish labour, there hardly was a person in more need of a house elf in their kitchen than Hermione Granger-Weasley. Her cooking was, for lack of a better description, rubbish. With a fondness reserved for Patronus-inducing memories, featured among Harry's favourite anecdotes was Rose Weasley's relief upon coming home for Summer, because it was "easier to watch her figure when the food's bad". It was almost enough to sympathise with Hermione's amused cringe at that time.

Harry quickly scribbled a wonky thumbs up on the back of Ron's note and sent the drowsy ministry owl on its way. Only a handful of owls were exempt from the Fidelius charm at Grimmauld Place, because even fifteen years after the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry still counted among popular targets of columnists. For some reason passing Harry's understanding,  people were further invested into the story of his now comparably placid life, and on more occasions he wondered if things would have taken a different turn entirely had the Dark Lord employed the investigative reporters instead of to sniff Harry out. At least, Harry suspected he wouldn't be awarded the title of the most eligible bachelor for five consecutive years, as voted by Witch Weekly.

Bidding a silent farewell to his plan of catching up with neglected chores, Harry got up from the table and went to grab his duffel bag on his way upstairs. He dragged himself to the bedroom, pretending not to see the utter chaos around him. He left the bag on top of the overflowing laundry basket, and unceremoniously shed his clothing on the floor as he walked straight to the bathroom.

-"I don't care," he cut off the mirror mid-sentence into another prolonged rant about Harry's posture, hair, lifestyle or anything at all, and he made quick work of running a bath. Harry slowly lowered himself into the tub, and let out a pleased sigh as the hot water washed over his aching limbs. He felt the warmth loosen the tension in his muscles and stiff joints - the product of sleeping on surfaces unintended for comfort. Like most ministry-issued cases, the Cardiff job hadn't been very difficult. He was hired to dispell a few haunted mansions and any suspicious enchanted objects he could find inside. Among the four houses, only one gave him any real trouble. Or perhaps excitement, depending on how Harry looked at it. Usually, the "cursed" homes turned out to have malfunctioning security spells, which were advanced enough that average witches or wizards struggled with them, or were accommodating some stray poltergeist rather than proper curses. Harry’s encounter with a real safety threat was more often than not a cause for delight. The wraith that happened to roam the third house Harry examined had been a real piece of work too; it took Harry the better part of the week to figure out how to get rid of it. 

Steam clung to the increasingly dissatisfied mirror, but Harry paid it no attention. He was much too comfortable relaxing in the hot water, and forced himself to resist closing his eyes. He feared that he would accidentally fall asleep, and eventually wake up in a freezing cold dirt stew, and he was too tired to include the leisurely wank he'd normally enjoy in a full-featuring bathing session. To Harry's dismay, the voice in his head that was at the moment doing an acapella rendition of a favourite evergreen "You're Boring and also Old, pt. II" was getting increasingly more difficult to ignore.  Rationally, at thirty-two he was nowhere close to being old, especially for a wizard, but he dared not contemplate how long it really had been since he's had time off work, or since he's had company in the bedroom for that matter. He absolutely didn’t care to open that particular door right now.

Clean and thoroughly worn out, Harry climbed out of the bath before he could doze off. From the haphazard pile of clothing which was sitting abandoned on the side of his bed, he fished out some boxers and put them on before crawling under the sheets. Teddy would have had the time of his life addressing this act of apparent hypocrisy if he were home to witness it. Harry couldn't help guiltily smiling at the thought. Unfortunately for his moral principles, setting up a Tempus was the last thing Harry was conscious enough to do, and at last he drifted off to sleep. The neglected laundry would be future Harry's problem.

 

***

 

_ Friday, October 5th _

 

The neglected laundry turned out to be the least of future Harry's problems.

-"Brecher's officially MIA since last Monday," Harry was informed as soon as the door to Ron’s office closed behind him. Ron Weasley looked like he needed at least fifteen hours of extra sleep, or an equal amount of Firewhiskey shots. Perhaps both. He was sitting at his heavy oak office desk, surrounded by messy stacks of files, empty ink bottles and crumpled scrolls. The Head Auror’s office was anything but fancy: aside from the massive desk, there were only cabinets and shelves laden with yet more files, binders and records. Covering the better part of the wall behind Ron was an enormous map of London and a bulletin board teeming with photographs of felons, crime scenes, and various notes. In the corner of the room stood a coat hanger with Ron’s old Chudley Cannons scarf - one of the few personal things that Ron kept at work. Harry crossed the office, and with a sigh Ron gestured him to sit down in the visitor’s chair.    

-"If you have any idea where that old badger could be, I'd appreciate any input," Ron continued and handed Harry the report on his curse-breaking colleague. Technically, Harry wasn't supposed to be involved other than as a possible witness, but practically Ron could do whatever he wanted. Brecher was one of the few agents who regularly did commissioned work for the Ministry; he was an older, unfriendly wizard with unflattering sideburns, who apart from having a proclivity for cluttering up his cubicle with succulents was entirely unexciting. Harry didn't have the faintest idea what the man was up to, and why Harry should care, but he obediently scanned the writing. He tried not to frown in obvious confusion.

-"Last thing I know, he was headed somewhere in the Carpathians," Harry shrugged, "I'm afraid I know as much as you at this point. That's not why I'm here though, is it?"

"No, truth to be told, I suspect bugger got carried away exorcising local folk. I expect he'll show up sooner or later. According to the report, he wasn't supposed to be doing anything lethal, he was fixing some enchanted tome I think, but you know better than me that curses are hardly predictable like that." Harry didn’t disagree.  In fact, in an attempt not to sidetrack Ron even further from the matter at hand, he offered no commentary at all and let his friend compose himself. The current go-to method was evidently repeatedly opening and closing the same drawers in search of files, only to find them already lying on the desk. 

-"This is still classified information even among the aurors," Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes only because Ron was obligated to say it, "... and there may be a chance Robards will have my bollocks, but." A pause and a contemplative chew at his lip were an indicator that a large amount of feces had hit the fan, and Harry suddenly found himself peculiarly unnerved; Ron certainly didn't make it to the Head Auror position by not keeping his cool.

-"Maximus Warwick of Wizengamot has been found dead in his bed three days ago. It's not been released to the public yet. The official statement for now is that it was an unfortunate, but natural death: his heart gave out as a result of a particularly nasty nightmare, as he was a million and six years old. Needless to say, that's just a way to conveniently cover someone's ass, but regrettably that someone is Robards and myself." Ron was rubbing his temple in a circular motion, and with a flick of his wand he opened the file on the relevant page for Harry to see. The featured photographs were enough to support Ron's statement: the old man's face was frozen in a silent scream, the tendons in his leathery neck visibly tense, his hands slightly stretched forward and fists grasping thin air. His eyes were blind and blown wide open, but from what Harry vaguely remembered about the warlock, he had not suffered from blindness before he died. Harry couldn't help but be reminded of the Basilisk's victims at Hogwarts twenty years ago.

-"What makes you think this could have been a curse?" Harry asked as he perused the rest of the document. He did agree this was an unlikely natural death to say the least, but from what he could find in the file, there was no mention of strange objects or suspicious magical manifestations aside from the victim itself. Still, Ron must have believed it was at least possible if he decided to consult him.

-"I'm not certain yet," Ron admitted with a sigh, "however, after speaking to Q Bleckhest from pathology, I have reason to believe this is not the first time they've examined similar evidence in the morgue. Furthermore, it's difficult to determine whether Warwick's heart had stopped when there was no heart left to speak of." Ron finished grimly.

Harry put down the file and frowned. Ron's theory wasn't entirely unrealistic - the amount of unidentified curses didn't really allow for a complete dismissal of such an idea, but it still seemed far-fetched in Harry's opinion. Had it been a curse, it would doubtlessly show symptoms before the fatality. From what Harry could find in the file, the warlock didn't exhibit any unconventional behavior other than being notorious for wearing a different neon-colored fwooper boa every week.

Ron seemed at loss. "Of course, I don't wish to interfere with your job - I only ask you to keep the idea in mind and look into it if you happen to come across something. Even if I'm wrong, at least we can exclude this possibility." Ron's tone was neutral, but firm. He seemed to have finally found his footing now that the case was laid out in front of Harry, or he stressed himself out over the line back into calmness again. Both options were equally possible, and in all honesty Harry couldn’t blame his friend; covering and solving a suspicious death of a Wizengamot warlock sounded about as pleasant as birthing manticores. Additionally, it could well cost Ron his position if not handled properly. Harry was determined not to let that happen if he could help it.  

-"Count on it. I can't promise anything, but one way or the other I'm sure we'll come up with something," Harry copied the file with a quick Geminio and shuffled it between his own reports. Cardiff still needed seeing to.

-"Cheers, Harry. It's a mess," Ron groaned, "If there's anything I can provide that's within my possibilities, I'll see what I can do. We'll need to keep a low profile, but I wager you figured that out already," Ron finished with a lopsided smile.

Ron would never put him in a compromising situation on purpose, but since Harry wasn't in on the case officially, to get involved was still tricky at best for both of them. Luckily for Ron, it so happened Harry was very much a ride or die kind of bloke, even if they coincidentally weren't the best of friends and Ron's multiple contributions to bringing down the Dark Lord were not of crucial importance.

-"That sounds familiar," Harry answered mischievously. "In the ideal case, I'd like to speak to Warwick's family to see if the reports aren't missing some clues," he continued in a more serious tone, "and I suggest you contact someone from the fourth floor as well, the Beast Division could have some ideas about what happened to the heart." Harry stood up to gather his things. It was about time he continued on his merry way to the cubicle that had become his second home.

-"Yeah, I already thought of that. The lad in the front office took his time demonstrating his superior knowledge of the meaning of life, and was in particular insistent on Tamer Kachenkova's celebrity status." Ron's current expression competed with Professor Binns' ever-present poker face. "I suddenly remembered the Ministry was in demand of people in the Pest Advisory Board, especially after the recent outbreak of Bundimun infestations in Knockturn Alley, so I offered to refer him as a specialist on all matters. That shut him up; he got me an appointment with Kachenkova and nearly broke his legs making curtsies when I was leaving."

-"Isn't the front office smartass about ten years old though?" Harry vaguely remembered stumbling upon someone on the fourth floor who at that time strongly reminded him of Percy Weasley in the early years, at least in terms of superfluous self-importance. Ron's indignation was getting decidedly more amusing.

-"I never claimed I was very patient with children," Ron shrugged and Harry couldn't hold back a snort this time at that blatant lie. Since becoming a father, Ron's emotional range expanded to the size of a tablespoon, or even a ladle.

-"I imagine Hermione would have something to say to that."

Ron at least had the decency to produce a sheepish grin in response, and he cleared his throat. "Err, right. Anyway - at least until the initial phase of investigation blows over, I'm afraid Warwick's family is off limits, but I'll work on getting you their full testimonies. I could smuggle you on the crime scene I guess, and I can arrange a visit in the morgue if that's any good to you, though."   

-"That would be great. Owl me or give me a firecall, I'll be in London until the end of the week for sure."    

-"You're brilliant, and I maybe regret not marrying you. Don't forget that we're having dinner at the Leaky with 'Mione, once I extricate myself from this loony bin." Ron leaned back in his chair, and covered his face with the open file to enhance the dramatic effect.

-"I'll meet you both at the Leaky then, and we can confront Hermione with your regrets. I knew you would eventually succumb to my charms," Harry answered with fake relief, complete with a sniff. He stood up from the desk and gathered his things. He was already halfway through the door, but he didn't miss Ron flipping him off with both hands, the file hiding his expression.

While walking to his not-so remote desk in the MLE's open space, Harry dodged several aurors and assistants who in an evident hurry to run their individual errands nearly knocked him out. (His mind helpfully supplied an image of Daily Prophet’s title page: “The Chosen One’s Demise: Trampled to Death at the Ministry ”.) The whole department was buzzing in an unusual rush for a Friday, Harry noted. It appeared several incidents had happened while Harry was gone in Wales, some more obscure than others.  Recently, the black market swarmed with smuggled harpy eggs and powdered koschei bone, which in turn caused a surge in the cartel of illegal potions and drugs containing these ingredients. Thus far, the Investigation Department was less than successful in tracing a possible supplier. Harry didn’t quite catch who was in charge of the case, but he certainly didn’t envy the poor bastard. It was a known fact that in MLE, the Auror Office and Investigation had an internal pissing contest, largely between their respective directors. To say Head Auror Weasley despised Sergeant Honeyfoot was the understatement of the century. However, unlike Ron’s relatively composed demeanour towards the Sergeant, Honeyfoot was an openly hostile and despicable git. More often than not, if there were means by which the Sergeant could hinder the aurors’ efforts, preferably as petty as possible, he’d go out of his way to realise them. Unfortunately enough, despite being a spiteful knob, Sergeant Honeyfoot was among the most proficient investigators that have ever worked for the Ministry, so it was tough luck for everyone involved. The person in charge of the case was treading on very thin ice, risking that it will be referred from the Investigation to the Aurors. Harry thought that if he one day saw a head on a pike in front of Honeyfoot’s office, he could probably guess how it got there.   

Among other news, the latest development in the Goblin-Wizard relations escalated to an entirely new level of worrying. It appeared that not long ago, a certain group of delinquents fueled the racial tensions by vandalizing a few goblin-owned businesses in the vicinity of Diagon Alley. In an act of incredible imbecility, a few of the extremists tried defacing Gringott's as well, which unsurprisingly failed. The perpetrators were caught red-handed, mauled by a wide spectrum of protective spells surrounding the marble building. As a result, the aurors managed to arrest them fairly easily. The Goblin Liaison was meanwhile working proverbial and literal magic to smooth things over. Harry expected some of the vandals were already past a few stages of incarceration grief, but he felt little sympathy. Had the goblins caught them first, the crooks would have begged for Azkaban, but as it was, they’d likely get off with a fine that would grease the Ministry’s and the goblins’ pockets.

Of heightened interest was an incident of unregistered erklings wreaking havoc and exposing a smuggler's den, and a strange case of burglary in the Galloglass property, now owned by Janus' great-grandson Isimud. Galloglass' daughter made the call, but despite there being clear signs of breaking and entering, Isimud insisted that nothing had been stolen. Harry was more of the opinion that whatever the burglar had taken was not legal, but when it came to private collections of old wizarding families, at least the ones that had a relatively clean record, authorities were usually willing to turn their head the other way. Nobody really questioned Isimud's claim.

The rest of the latest affairs consisted mostly of minor offences: drunk flying, accidental magic in Muggle areas, and misuse of muggle artefacts (Harry couldn't decide if his personal favourite was a heavily tuned Bugatti or an inconspicuous muggle-brand mixer that made its contents scream in agony when in use).

By the time Harry reached his desk, he had witnessed two collisions of clerks over-stacked with paperwork, Seamus' desk catching fire again, people hiding from parchment cranes bearing notes from the administration, and only a single accident with spilt coffee over reports. Were it not a Friday, Harry would have considered the atmosphere tepid.

He didn’t even bother sitting down; the sight of the clutter on his desk, consisting mostly of unfinished reports and unanswered owls, was enough to send him running the other way. Harry wistfully thought of times when Hermione practically beat him to finish his assignments or homework during training. He certainly needed some ass-kicking from time to time even now. Instead of working on his work discipline however, Harry perfected the art of not giving a flying fig. That at least was comforting in his situation.

Clutching the papers he carried tighter with one arm, he rummaged the first drawer of his desk for a moment, until at last he triumphantly produced a small piece of parchment. It was immediately clear the parchment had seen better times: it was crumpled, yellowed and slightly torn in the corner. It vaguely resembled a note that had been passed back-and-forth between students, which in fact wasn’t that far from the truth. The writing was barely legible, but it wasn’t like Harry or the assistants at the Ministry laboratories weren’t already familiar with its contents. Harry often needed a list of specific potions for curse-breaking, which usually weren’t available in just any apothecary. Some of the potions he was trained to brew himself, but it was naturally far easier to strike a deal with the local Potions Master, and order all of them at once, rather than to keep track with the contents of his personal stash. Harry doubted he’d be able to produce a simple Pepper-up in its present state. Moreover, the current Potions Master (a very sweet lady whose name Harry thought was Bertha, but he wasn’t quite sure; after years it became terribly awkward to ask) was more than willing to aid him with his plight. She issued him a reusable prescription that he could present to the assistants whenever he needed stocking up on any of the potions he required at the moment. He got used to picking up the finished concoctions directly at the Ministry’s lab.

Harry stuffed the prescription into the pocket of his robes. He had a momentary epiphany about being a wizard when he nearly dropped the files he was struggling to hold - he shrank them and shoved them into his pockets as well. Nobody ever accused Harry James Potter of being particularly neat, perhaps aside from Teddy, who every so often (i.e. when he thought Harry couldn’t hear him) called Harry anal retentive for making him tidy his clothes into the actual closet, and not collect them on every other possible surface around the house.

Harry’s plan was to first hand in his Cardiff report downstairs, and then stop by the Ministry’s laboratories to commission a few potions he nearly used up. He expected the whole affair would be over in fifteen minutes maximum, and that was more than fine with him - perhaps he could still stop by the grocer’s before seeing Ron and Hermione. The prospect of having cereal for most meals during the weekend was motivating enough, although Harry supposed he still could drop by for Sunday lunch in the Burrow. Molly would probably make him take some of the leftovers home, because she always did, whether he wanted to or not. Leftovers from Sunday would mean he’d be set until at least Monday, and he could still order take-out on Saturday. That way, Harry wouldn’t have to worry about groceries until after Molly’s provisions had all been appropriately disposed of. 

Harry had stopped arguing with Molly Weasley over anything by default after he and Ginny broke up. Despite there being no bad blood between him and Gin, he couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt towards Mr and Mrs Weasley. Harry knew rationally that they didn’t hold his and Ginny’s failed romantic relationship against him. Arthur Weasley let himself be heard on more occasions that it “took two to tango”, but Harry still feared he had tremendously disappointed them. As a consequence, he was unwilling to refuse Molly her motherly nagging, although it took him some time to believe he was still worth her care, and that he was still welcome in their family. The time he confessed this particular fear to Ginny was especially sobering; she at first perfected the Bat Bogey Hex on him, and then suggested  that Harry should pull his head out of his ass - all very lovingly of course. Apparently, just because they stopped seeing each other (or, as Ginny put it: quit frick-fracking), it didn’t mean that her parents, or any of her brothers would shun him, so he might as well stop feeling sorry for himself. Harry didn’t argue.

It wasn’t really that Harry didn’t know or like to cook, quite the opposite - speculations were that either one of his parents was a secret prodigy chef, or Molly’s teaching really latched only onto Harry instead of her children. Harry remembered with a disturbing clarity the time the Weasley clan tried to unburden their mother by splitting the cooking of Christmas dinner between themselves, despite Arthur’s repeated advice not to. Finding something that vaguely resembled either a toe of a garden gnome, or perhaps a piece of Horklump in George’s mashed potatoes haunted Harry’s dreams to this day. Hermione was unanimously voted the Prime Suspect. All participants of this disastrous event agreed never to help cooking a feast again, unless supervised by Molly. To his defence, Harry’s mince pies were not only edible, but also counted among the few enjoyable dishes. On the other hand, there really wasn’t any competition that would make his success dignified. He quit cooking after Ginny had definitely moved out. After their relationship was concluded, Harry decided it would do him good to lay off stress-eating Caramel Cobwebs, and instead focus on something more productive than the haunting realisation that the only person he really loved and depended on had left him. In the initial stages of his denial, Harry managed to graduate his curse-breaker training among the top of his class, land an impressive contract with the Ministry, and swamp himself with work until it stopped hurting. His cooking at the time amounted at most to reheating greasy take-out food that tasted like failure and regret.        

When Teddy came to live with Harry, he gradually found joy in returning to active kitchen duty. In Harry’s opinion, there was no fun in cooking dishes more complicated than scrambled eggs just for himself. Teddy was a challenging audience too, not because he was picky, but because he was like a garbage can. He would eat practically anything from Beluga caviar to stewed sock. Cooking for Teddy was a kind of game for Harry: the boy had enough tells that revealed whether he enjoyed his food only because it didn’t make him outright sick, or if he inhaled whatever was put in front of him with sincere gusto. Harry was yet to find something that Teddy refused to eat at all.     

By dismissing his plan of grocery shopping, Harry suddenly earned a few extra hours from a day he had already bid his farewells to after Ron called him to work. Harry’s options seemed inexhaustible now: before meeting up at the Leaky, he could sort out the reports buried in dust in his study, properly unpack, tend to unanswered owls, check Ron’s file to see if there’s something he could latch on to, or even get that much-needed haircut. Harry was contemplating his possibilities while he walked towards the lift and got on, but he knew deep in his heart all it would amount to was indulging in his only true passion just the same: napping. He would never openly admit it of course - he still loved flying, or cracking mysterious curses, or teaching Teddy relatively harmless prank hexes. Regardless, as frustrating as it was, Harry knew himself well enough by now that he didn’t really have unnecessary illusions about his priorities, especially during the workweek. He still liked to at least make an attempt at including activities in his leisure time that didn’t directly involve his couch.

Harry rolled his eyes and groaned audibly at his current train of thoughts. He also pretended he didn’t notice the startled look of the witch sharing the ride with him.

He got off the lift, and purposefully marched on towards the administration offices on the first floor. He dodged a slight commotion in the Atrium caused by what seemed to be a floo accident, and entered the corridor at the far end of the entrance hall. The tall walls were decorated by moving mosaics depicting the feats of Merlin, and were illuminated by a vast magical skylight. Harry couldn’t decide if he enjoyed the admittedly breathtaking decoration, or if he should feel mocked by the fact that the corridor in question lead to the least popular (useless, dismal, time-consuming, dementor breeding ground) section of the Ministry of Magic.

Harry usually didn’t need to actually see any live witch or wizard to submit his final case reports. To reach the confusing labyrinth that held the administration offices, one would first enter a large vestibule at the end of the corridor. It couldn’t quite compare to the aesthetic experience, but the golden tubes lining two of the opposite walls, like strange organ pipes, were a sight to behold nonetheless. The pneumatic tubes were installed to transport regular forms and reports for processing without the need of an intermediating employee, which significantly increased the efficiency. Harry supposed that this was as close to muggle systems as the magical community would get for now, but he couldn’t complain - the mailing tubes were vastly more preferable than having to interact with clerks, who'd make the whole ordeal as pleasurable as pulling teeth.   

Harry walked up to the section of tubes designated for MLE-related cases, where he stood in a short queue. The higher ranking officials had leave to use authorised tubes installed in their own offices, or ones allocated in parts of the open-space, and it was no secret that their requests were prioritised. Being an affiliated agent, Harry didn’t enjoy such privilege, and had to use the plebeian version in the administration’s vestibule. He didn’t mind all that much, more often than not he used the walk as an excuse to sneak out for coffee (and an occasional cigarette, but he vowed to quit this time for sure).

He closed the decorative latch of the tube after his report was safely deposited, and decided against having the usual coffee break before descending to the laboratories. If he hurried, he could still make it home in time, and elegantly sidestep the traffic around the floors once the whole Ministry of Magic collectively started leaving work. He made a hasty dash through Merlin’s Corridor and the Atrium, until at last he arrived at the gargantuan stairway, just around the corner near the lifts. It spiralled both towards the Ministry’s upper levels, downward to the temporary holding cells for men and beasts, and even further down to the laboratories and the morgue.

Officially, Harry didn’t have clearance to wander about in the lower levels unaccompanied, unless it was necessary for a case. Ron however provided him with a pass that allowed him access to the front offices, reserved usually for a restricted amount of MLE officials only. As much as Harry didn’t like to take advantage of Ron’s possibilities, his friend was right in pointing out that nobody would dare deny such triviality to the Savior anyhow, and that he might as well enjoy it. Harry wasn’t all that impressed by the suggestion, but he knew it was useless to deny the truth of it. Besides, he couldn’t ask  Ron to issue him a permission each time Harry needed to visit the depths of the Ministry.

The distinct smell of disinfecting charms flooded Harry’s nose immediately upon passing the floor with the temporary cells and courtrooms, where the most dangerous individuals were judged. It was also getting noticeably cooler, but unlike the dungeons and cellars at Hogwarts, the air wasn’t seeped through with humidity or the faint moldy scent. The ceilings were lower compared to the rest of the Ministry’s floors, and the offices were only sparsely furnished, giving the place a fittingly sterile look.

Harry had a small laboratory at Grimmauld Place as well, but he doubted that he possessed proper tools for brewing some of the potions he commissioned at the Ministry, and he was absolutely certain his apothecary cabinet couldn’t even dream of some of the ingredients found here. Harry was glad for that, in fact - recently, perhaps due to the disuse, the cabinet grew very sombre and creaked pitifully whenever the rare occasion presented itself that Harry decided to at least dust off the shelves.

Upon his arrival to the entrance of the laboratories, he conjured a Patronus to announce himself, and waited until some responsible assistant showed up. There were only a few steady employees in the laboratory, and it seemed most of the positions didn’t have a long-term appeal to the young pharmacists and alchemists. Harry usually communicated with the Potions Master’s head assistant, so he was a little startled when he was welcomed to the office by a new face entirely.

-”What can I do for you, Agent?” The lad must have been at least ten years younger than Harry, and his working clothes suggested he was an intern, rather than a regular employee. His hair was strawberry-blond, and he sported a shiny nose ring. Harry noticed he seemed a bit nervous, and was giving him a very expectant look from behind his wire rimmed glasses. He reminded Harry a little of a lankier Anthony Goldstein.   

Harry handed him the crumpled parchment with the prescription, silently hoping the intern wouldn’t judge him for how barely legible and wrinkly it was.

-”I would like to order a few potions from the list I gave to the Potions Master, head assistant Shiva should be familiar with it as well. It’s six flasks of Confusing Concoction, four of Aurora’s Draught, again four of Moonshard Extract, and one Distilled Dragon’s Breath. And if it’s not much trouble,” Harry could hear the apologetic tone in his own voice and he hated himself a little for it, ”if you would, I’d like one Dreamless Sleep as well.” There were in fact more potions he could use, but if the intern’s eyes bulged from his skull any more, they would push the glasses off his nose. Harry decided not to take chances.

The intern studied the parchment, and he chewed his lip profusely as he turned it over and over in his hand. Harry found this equally irritating and endearing - interns in this part of the Ministry took their job very seriously.  

-”Yes, of course, I’ll see to it. If you would wait a moment, I need to record the order and I’ll come back for your signature.” The intern didn’t even look up at Harry as he spoke, and he was already halfway gone inside the lab hallway, through which the rest of the offices could be accessed. Harry waited patiently, wondering if Shiva was on vacation. He tried to imagine the stern woman outside of the laboratories, wearing casual clothing and doing something entirely mundane like having ice cream, and he decided the thought was just absurd. In fact, Harry had to stifle a rather undignified giggle at the image.

It didn’t take long until the hallway door opened again, revealing the now visibly anxious intern. Harry didn’t see any form that he could sign either, and he frowned in confusion.

-”Excuse me, Agent,” he handed Harry the prescription, and stuffed his hands in the pockets of his robes, “it appears the prescription is no longer valid, so I can’t take your order, I’m sorry. Have a good day.” Harry’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline, and he had to stop himself from cocking his head to the side.

-”There must be a misunderstanding,” Harry started hastily when he saw the kid retreat, “the prescription was issued by the Potions Master for personal use. Shiva can confirm this, if she’s around.”

-”Head Assistant Shiva is away for additional professional training, on the request of the Potions Master. I’m afraid I really can’t help you.” To Harry it looked more like the Intern didn’t particularly wish to be able to help him, in fact. He could see the intern skittishly picking on the inside of the pockets. The intern started for the door again, but Harry would have none of it.

-”Wait, can I speak to the person in charge, please? I’m sure this is just a mistake.” Harry found it strange that Shiva would be tasked to acquire additional training. As far as he knew, Shiva was the best-trained of the staff, with the exception of the Potions Master herself. Harry was convinced there had to be a very simple explanation, but the internist was being obnoxiously unhelpful. He could already see himself drowned in the current of rushing Ministry employees instead of getting home, and resisted letting out an exasperated groan.

The intern’s eyes expanded to the size of saucers at Harry’s request, and Harry immediately detected that there was a fight-or-flight situation ensuing.

-”There’s only the Potions Master present, and I’m not sure-”

-”Thank you, I promise I’ll keep it short,” Harry interrupted him. Impatient to get this over with, he didn’t even wait for the kid to admit him in, and dashed through the door to the connecting hallway. The Potions Master surely wouldn’t mind, at least not enough that a coffee session shouldn’t fix it, Harry hoped. He could hear the poor internist calling after him as he hurried towards the Potions Master’s office at the very end of the hallway, and briefly noticed the lack of the usual chatter from the working spaces. It was strange, but he wasn’t here to investigate the inner workings of the laboratories; Harry was quite intent to keep this visit as short and as matter-of-fact as possible. 

Harry rapped on the massive ebony door with two sharp knocks, and already spoke as he let himself in, “...hello, I’m sorry to bother you, but there seems to be-”

-”If you’re looking for Potions Master Jiggers, she retired about a month ago. If there’s nothing else, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t barge into my office unannounced, and instead followed the instructions of my assistants, Agent. I will not tolerate poor manners.”  Harry froze on the spot. It took him a momentary deliberation before he was absolutely positive the man sitting behind the Potions Master’s desk was not some sort of vexing mirage.

-”Is there anything you wanted, or are you just intentionally disturbing me from work right now?” Draco Malfoy’s tone had gone from dry to dry and severely unimpressed, and he regarded Harry expectantly.

Harry, who stood there like a gaping tosser.

Harry, who had a sudden suspicion a session over coffee would perhaps not fix this after all.

       

 

 


	2. Have-beens and Meanwhiles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's International Children's day, so i find it only appropriate to update the story of the two biggest children.
> 
> thank you @sappypotter and @decanthrope for invaluable insights, and cheering me on !
> 
> I apologise for the delay, coursework is catching up to me in alarming speed.

_ Friday, October 5th _

-”Is there anything you wanted, or are you just deliberately disturbing me from work right now?”

Harry was trying to collect his thoughts into something coherent, or at least come up with a clever retort, but of course Malfoy had to interrupt him again:

-”Assistant Hjort is responsible for scheduling appointments, Ag-”

-”What are you doing here ?”

Harry quickly discovered  he had no patience for the blond git whatsoever, and discarded his former efforts not to sound like a complete Neanderthal. It was Malfoy, for heaven’s sake. Harry could not believe it.

He realised he was probably staring, but he just couldn’t help it. Malfoy sat behind the former Potions Master’s desk like it was completely normal. Notes and parchments were strewn before him, and there was a steaming mug put away to the side, in a safe distance from the ink bottle. Harry noticed Malfoy had a new set of shelves installed in the office, most of which were bearing thick leather-bound books, clearly old, but in pristine condition. Where there used to be heaps of folders and reports, much like in Ron’s case, there now stood strange devices and flasks with neatly written labels, and a pair of expensive-looking protective gloves made of dragonhide. On a row of ornamental hangers near the shelf (who would even need ornamental hangers was beyond Harry, but at the same time he was decidedly not surprised) hung a variety of obscure goggles he would pay good money to see Malfoy wearing, just to see how ridiculous it would look. The enchanted To-do lists and family photographs from the bulletin board that Harry always liked to study were gone; attached to the board there was now an abundance of curious charts with unfamiliar symbols and abbreviations, and what Harry assumed were potion recipes; all in Malfoy’s elegant handwriting. It amazed Harry that he even remembered how neatly Malfoy wrote, and that for all its copperplate appearance, Harry could still only barely decipher the slanted, loopy script.

Malfoy was wearing the signature royal blue robes for this section of the Ministry, and much to Harry’s surprise, the rich colour looked strangely pleasant on him.  He couldn’t remember if he’d ever seen Malfoy wearing anything but black and Slytherin green, but he was inclined to think he had not. Harry had a fleeting thought it was a waste.

He had always perceived Malfoy as pasty to the point that his skin looked greyish, and especially in their last years at Hogwarts he was used to seeing Malfoy with bruise-like circles under his eyes. Considering what they both had on their plates at that time, it wasn’t especially surprising, and Harry supposed he hadn’t looked very smart himself. Enough sleep and the absence of a homicidal maniac in his home did improve Malfoy’s visage, in any case. The rich blue colour brought out specks of silver in his eyes. And were those hints of laugh lines Harry was seeing...?    

Harry interrupted that incredibly bizarre (and equally disturbing) train of thought before he could drift any further from the matter at hand. Which was Draco Malfoy. Draco Malfoy, who essentially vanished after his trial, where Harry in fact testified in his favor, fifteen years ago. Draco Malfoy, who gave Harry an extra bored look in return to his inquiry, which unsurprisingly ignited the spite building in Harry’s gut.  

-”Running this Department, as you have failed to notice several times already,” Malfoy’s voice was condescending, and utterly infuriating, “...so unless the laboratory is on fire and requires my immediate attention, I’d kindly ask you to fuck off and let me do my job, Agent. ”

-”But why? Where in Slytherin’s pits have you been, Malfoy?”

Immediately after the words have rolled out of his mouth, Harry wished he had a time-turner, or perhaps a portkey to Timbuktu.

What was he thinking? Malfoy didn’t owe him any explanations. An intrusive idea of obliviating Malfoy eclipsed his mind, and Harry resisted letting out a wistful whine. Instead, he was trying to “casually” look anywhere but at Malfoy, and felt a tingle of heat rise in his cheeks. Luckily, his skin was dark enough to hide the blush; Harry was grateful for small miracles.   

Malfoy appeared to be just as caught off guard by the question as Harry, and for a second he blinked owlishly. He found his footing swiftly enough however, and he didn’t spare any venom in his words this time: ”Because you’re interrupting my work, which is supervising the laboratories. The Potions Master’s position would have been obsolete otherwise, clearly”,  Malfoy mocked him, speaking matter-of-factly as if Harry were an impertinent child, ”...and as for the second question, you’ll find that’s none of your bloody business.”

With a wave of his hand, Malfoy opened the door to his office. It revealed a guilty-looking assistant, who was now furiously picking at the pockets of his work robes.

-”Hjort, please escort the Agent, and don’t forget to set up the Horis Adire this time, thank you.”  

Harry huffed exasperatedly, meaning to add his two cents about where Malfoy should set up the Horis Adire, but in a flash Malfoy got out his wand and pointed it at him. Harry felt his lips glue shut by a well-aimed hex, and for an instant he could only stare back at Malfoy with indignation seeping from every pore of his skin. That absolute bastard. Harry was already grabbing his wand to retaliate, when Malfoy tutted at him in warning: “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

Before Harry could really do anything (which wasn’t much, since he was limited to either muffled cussing, or skipping the niceties entirely and strangling the blond maggot), Hjort was already dragging him away by his arm, and in no time at all Harry found himself kicked out by the stairwell. Hjort had at least had the decency to Finite the hex on Harry with an apologetic look, but he hurriedly shuffled away as soon as Harry’s lips parted with a cork-popping sound.

Humiliated and swearing under his breath, Harry stomped up the stairs to the ground floor. He couldn’t believe he let Malfoy annihilate him like he was an utter amateur; worse, a mere pest. Malfoy had him taken out like last week’s garbage.

Harry sighed and rubbed his eyes.  He didn’t really know what he had expected. He would be lying if he pretended he had never spent a stray thought on Draco Malfoy over the past years, especially since Andromeda and Narcissa attempted to mend their relationship somewhat, at least from what he’d heard. Harry would on occasion wonder what his old rival from school was up to, but never to the point that he would actually care to make inquiries. It was mostly when he predictably stumbled upon memories while visiting Teddy at Hogwarts. It was a seldom occurrence, and they were all just sudden snippets that he never spent much time trying to dissect, as with most of his unpleasant recollections from school years.

Harry would be damned if he’d let the arsehole one-up him first thing after they’d ran into each other; already the gears of his mind were working towards plotting an elaborate payback. If Harry ever entertained the spark of doubt that their mutual animosity might have ceased in potency throughout the years, it was snuffed out like a cigarette butt against the sole of his boot. It seemed some people just didn’t know when to grow up.

No matter - two could play Malfoy’s game. Harry threw one last glance in the direction of the laboratory, and he bit his lip in effort not to grin. As much as he hated to admit it, he couldn’t deny being a little excited about the prospect of turning tables on the ponce.

 

***

 

The little silver bell that hung over the entrance door of Slug & Jiggers Apothecary announced Harry’s presence with a delicate chime. Harry entered, and tentatively looked around the narrow, dimly lit space of the shop.  

While Harry was still at Hogwarts, Slug & Jiggers was bustling with a plethora of witches and wizards who sought to replenish their supplies, or were just browsing the rows of shelves overflown by curious jars and jugs of every possible size and shape. Traditionally, at Summer’s end the apothecary would be positively poached by eager students in need of potion ingredients for classes, and the elderly shopkeeper would eventually be left with more-or-less empty cabinets and grumpy latecomers.

Harry regarded the now mostly empty space with interest. Enchanted oil lanterns floated over the cabinets in an irregular chain, just like Harry remembered. Their faint glow reflected from the dark lacquered wood and glass in plentiful shiny dots, and simultaneously added to the delightfully mysterious ambience in the small business.

Many customers complained about the slightly stale, medicinal scent that always permeated the air inside, but not Harry. It was similar to the familiar smell of the laboratories at which he spent the better part of his curse-breaking training, and it immediately made Harry’s mind flood with memories of the accidental hilarity of botched potion making. Trainees loved to play pranks on each other just as much as teenagers did; being the Savior did not grant him any immunity, if anything it had only fueled his colleagues’ enthusiasm for gross jokes at his expense. Harry honestly couldn’t count the times someone put dragon liver down his shirt, or times he was absolutely drenched in Bubotuber Pus. Ginny would always cry laughing (Harry was never sure if it really was the pungent stench that made her eyes tear, or the amusement at his expense), all while holding her nose, and she would blow a kiss at him whenever she ostentatiously flooed her butt over to the Burrow for the next few days. Ginny sympathised with Harry’s odorous plights strictly through firecalls. But Harry always gave as good as he got, and he remembered his curse breaking training with fondness.

He approached the shop assistant who was meticulously dusting off jars full of beetle eyes. Harry couldn’t help but notice that several of the shelves, while glistening with cleanness, were entirely empty.

-”Hello,” the man’s head snapped around so fast Harry feared it broke his neck, “would it be possible to order potions from your shop?”

-”Why, of course,” the assistant smiled, perhaps delighted to have something to do other than tidying. -”What would you like to have brewed?”

Harry handed him the parchment where he had hurriedly scrawled his list before leaving the Ministry. It didn’t look much better than the old prescription, but at least it wasn’t torn or stained.

The shop assistant scanned the list, and started walking towards the large antique counter in the back of the shop. He was humming and nodding to himself all the way, and Harry wondered it that was perhaps something that happened with increasing age, or if the shop had been deserted for so long that the shopkeeper started talking to himself. Harry obediently followed him, and discreetly checked his watch. He had to make peace with the fact that napping was meanwhile reduced to a poisonous dream he would have to forget tonight. Harry would definitely never make it to the Leaky if he dozed before going out. More likely, he would wake up the next morning completely knackered with a side of disorientation. Probably with owls bearing Ron’s threats pecking at his face. It wouldn’t be the first time.

The assistant fetched a thick, leather-bound journal from the back room with a swift Accio, and revealed a neatly written accounting ledger.

-”Most of these could be finished by the end of next week, but I will need to resupply for Aurora’s Draught. We are all out of bezoar, unfortunately, but I expect it should not take longer than a week and a half to get the potion ready.” He looked at Harry apologetically as he attached the list inside the journal. Harry just nodded in acknowledgement, and started digging through his pockets for his wallet.

-”I’ll come by to pick them up next week, and if you would update me on the Draught then, that would be great,” Harry smiled, “how much do I owe you?” He finally produced the wallet from the inside of his coat. It was shabby and worn, and it was impossible to determine for sure what colour it had been originally. It was a gift from Ginny for their anniversary, and Harry was admittedly still loathe to let go of it, despite promising himself a million times over to buy a wallet that’s not partially see-through. The assistant only shook his head.

-”No, Mr Potter! There’s no need to pay in advance. Next week, after you’ve come to pick up the order will be sufficient.” He waved Harry off, who just shrugged and proceeded to stuff the wallet back into the pocket of his robes. He was sure he would be looking for it again later when he needed it, but some things were beyond his possibility to prevent.

-”I will issue you a receipt, but I will need the authorisation letter, if you please.”

-”Excuse me?” Baffled, Harry kept glancing between the assistant and the assistant’s open palm. He had absolutely no idea what the man was talking about.

-”As you sure know, several of the potions are restricted in use,” the assistant frowned, clearly confused that he needed to explain, “officially I need a letter of authorisation from the Ministry in order to sell them.”

Harry has never heard of such nonsense before, but he hadn’t had to worry about getting his potions in years. Was this perhaps some new law that he wasn’t aware of?

-”Would my curse-breaker licence be enough?” Harry palmed the wallet in his pocket; he silently wondered if a meteorite would hit the Leaky Cauldron too tonight, just to uphold the trend of the day.

-”I’m afraid not, sir.” Harry noted with alarm that the man began returning his list.

\- “I’d very much like to take your order, of course, but i simply can’t afford it.” He gestured at the empty shelves around them.

Harry sighed. Normally, he would not encourage any special treatment in relation to his person. In fact, the attention he received was generally making him uncomfortable, and he silently hoped one day the whole Golden Boy affair would get old. Needless to say, the only one getting old was only Harry at this point, and it still wasn’t enough to deter his more steadfast fans. Some people would go to very unnecessary and awkward lengths to please him, even if he didn’t ask for it, nor liked it for that matter. It ranged from mundane, and very occasionally even welcome gestures (such as paying for his coffee), to rude and frankly disturbing acts of so-called appreciation (such as sending distasteful nudes and heaps of used underwear to his workplace). It took Harry quite some time, but he did manage to stop paying attention to such advances; it significantly helped him retain some sanity, especially while trying to come to terms with the events of war. Looking at the clerk however, he couldn’t help thinking bitterly how his fame could at least have been convenient for once, instead of getting him a life-long supply of dietary supplements for owls last week in Wales.

-”Never mind, I understand. Do you by any chance know where this authorisation is issued?” Harry had a way with charming the ladies in the part of Administration he usually visited, but one could never be sure where the search for unfamiliar documents would lead. Administration was a kind of twilight zone in this regard.

The shop assistant just scratched his head as if it would coax his memory into compliance; Harry swore he could hear the man’s brainwork whirr.

-”As I understand it, you need to get a form and have it approved,” the assistant began.

-”...yes, that’s the general idea,” Harry muttered, “do you know where I can do that?”

-”Oh, right,” the man’s frown eased into a small smile, “my apologies, I’m not sure about where you can get the form. But.” He made a dramatic pause, and Harry started feeling incredibly sorry he asked.

-”I reckon the Potions Master will have it at hand in the office, and I am sure in your case they won’t make you wait and inconvenience you, Mr. Potter. It’s their signature you need most, after all.”  

-”The Potions Master.” Harry repeated mechanically. Of-fucking-course .

 

***

 

Harry was running late to the dinner at the Leaky Cauldron. He was guiltily hoping Ron and Hermione would be delayed as well; although he didn’t wish any any inconvenience on his friends, he would also prefer not having to explain what held him back from coming.

Since he didn’t have time to take a nap or get in the shower when he finally got home, Harry decided he would at least change into a more comfortable, pub-friendly outfit, as opposed to the robes he normally wore to work. He ditched the cloak and the semi-casual clothes underneath for a pair of jeans and a nice grey sweater that Dean and Seamus once got for him. They had bought it as a reimbursement for having wrestled Harry’s (favourite!) ratty, threadbare hoodie off him, and shredding it with a well-aimed Diffindo. All while looking directly into Harry’s eyes. They had threatened to do it should he ever wear it on their night out again, and Harry made the mistake of underestimating the couple. Seamus helpfully set the rags on fire too, just to make sure Harry didn’t attempt to put it together by any means.

Instead of his boots, Harry put on comfortable sneakers, the ones Harry was only allowed to wear when Teddy was at Hogwarts, since they had inadvertently bought the same pair. Harry didn’t really think it was such a big deal if they wore the shoes at the same time, but Teddy wouldn’t be caught dead wearing anything resembling Harry’s clothes. Few faulted him for it. Harry’s fashion sense compared only to Hermione’s cooking skill, so the more neutral he dressed, the less danger there was of overly eager friends liquidating his wardrobe in an attempt to preserve his dignity.

Once in comfortable clothes, and after applying a provisory cleaning charm on his hair (which had next to no effect), Harry descended to the kitchen. He intended to dose himself with coffee before heading out. He was still exhausted from the job in Wales, and one night of sleep was not nearly enough to make up for the shortage. Absent-mindedly, he waved his wand to turn on the coffee maker, and started rummaging the nearly empty cabinet over the kitchen sink for his favourite mug. Harry didn’t much bother to keep dishes separated from the rest of the kitchen’s contents. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t find everything he needed most of the time.  

It was only when he heard the high, frantic sound coming from the coffee maker that he realised  what a grave mistake he made. The coffee maker was the prickliest of Harry’s kitchen appliances. Andromeda warned him to take good care of it when she handed it over, along with some other things she did not want to take along when she and Ted moved to Norfolk. Harry suspected he probably didn’t grasp the concept of caring for a coffee maker properly, because despite cleaning it more often than anything in the kitchen, it would still sometimes mess with his coffee or refuse to make it at all. Infuriatingly enough, whenever he had guests it would run smoothly, make fantastic coffee and even whirr like a satisfied cat. As soon as the guests were out of the door though, it would resume being petulant like some obnoxious, mechanical toddler. Perhaps it had hated Harry nicknaming it Archibald.

Harry forgot he had cast a stasis on some of the household machines so that they wouldn’t wreak havoc during the time he was gone in Wales. It wasn’t very common for appliances to be sentient to that extent, but some of those that had been a part of a magical household for too long would gain some semblance of awareness; Harry would rather not risk coming home from a mission only to find it demolished by a dissatisfied toaster. Sirius would  probably have loved the image, though. Archibald the coffee maker was among the machines Harry put stasis on only if he felt it was absolutely necessary. He always made sure to approach the unpredictable kitchen appliance with utmost care when he cancelled the spell, dusting and cleaning it properly before he would use it, even talking to it sometimes. Tonight he had the misfortune of being too distracted to remember this crucial detail. In a vengeful fit, the crazy machine exploded coffee grounds all over the kitchen, the walls, and of course Harry. He was dangerously close to Incendio the piece of shit coffee maker, but he stayed his wand; it wouldn’t do to set fire to his kitchen on this hellish day as well. Nevertheless, he was gripping the wand so tightly that he feared for a moment it would snap. He sighed in exasperation. His fantasies of slowly dismantling Archibald piece by piece, and exploding each part significantly helped Harry to calm down.  

The little time Harry had left before apparating to the Leaky Cauldron he spent on trying to vanish the mess as best as he could. Miserably, he thought that he at least hadn’t showered before, now that the necessity arose from having coffee grounds in every body cavity, and tangled in his hair too. Ron would piss himself laughing.

Incredibly, Harry did luck out. When he finally arrived at the Leaky, clean and changed, he could not spot Ron’s unmistakable thatch of red hair anywhere. Neither could he see Hermione’s form hiding behind an open newspaper or checking her cellphone.

Ever since Voldemort’s fall, wizards have been strongly encouraged to familiarise themselves with Muggle culture. Muggleborns and Half-bloods played a vital role in the whole process, supported by their magical spouses and wizards of like mind. The attempt to bridge the bottomless trench that separated generations of wizards from their muggleborn counterparts seemed no less futile than during the Dark Lord’s reign, but over the years the various campaigns and new applied laws seemed to lessen the strain somewhat. The movement finally got a large break after five years of its existence. A group of misfits notorious to the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office, many inspired by the Weasley twins as well, gathered their collective knowledge of the workings of muggle objects, and decided to profit off it instead of getting endless fines.

The group now known as Technomancy Inc. fiddled with successful muggle technology and appropriated it for magical use, with Arthur Weasley as their senior associate, and with Minister Shacklebolt’s blessings. Naturally, the speed of the progress of muggle innovations was impossible for magi-tech to keep up with, as there were several obstructions largely tied to the clash between the use of electricity and magic. It took a long time to develop methods that could utilise the loopholes and go around electricity, but the company still grew with astonishing momentum and was extraordinarily prosperous. To Harry’s dismay,  the new “it”-device to own was a mobile phone.

The development of magical cellular phones was still in an introductory stage, but having access to the newest prototypes, Hermione absolutely had to have one. At that point, the cell phones still could not bypass types of heavy protective and muggle-repelling enchantments. In places such as Hogwarts, Gringotts or the Ministry, they would be virtually useless. They were however advanced enough to work in parts of wizarding London, as well as in magical households that weren’t heavily protected. Over the years, Hermione came to share Arthur’s enthusiasm for modified muggle tech and found it inherently fascinating as a means to connect the two worlds. She insisted everyone in near proximity should use one, including Harry. He wasn’t particularly fond of the idea of being available all the time, meaning that her argument of not having to search for fireplaces or available owls fell on deaf ears. Despite protests, she still got him an older model, now lying safely hidden in the drawer of his desk at home.    

Maybe seconds after Harry had sat down to their favourite table, further back in the pub, he could already see both his friends making their way towards him through the crowd of guests, and waving at him. Despite of his day being a consistent clusterfuck, Harry could not help but grin widely at them in response. He had missed them terribly. After exchanging niceties and devouring the last of their respective dinners (Ron and Harry had Fish and Chips, while Hermione opted for Shepherd’s Pie), they each ordered a pint of dark ale, the Leaky Cauldron’s own popular brew. Harry was right: Ron nearly did choke laughing when Harry described the debacle of Archibald’s revenge.  Ron returned Harry the favour as he conveyed the latest development in the competition between the Auror and Investigation Departments, bringing Harry up to date with Honeyfoot’s schemes and his cajoling of Commander Robards into giving them more time on the case of illegal ingredient suppliers. As usual, Ron got very enthusiastic while relating his complaints - he was gesturing wildly and swearing creatively at every mention of the Sergeant. Ron’s personalised insults and colourful narration never failed to make even the most boring story hilarious, and soon enough Harry was shaking with suppressed laughter. It was hard keeping a straight face with Ron’s dramatic performance, despite the serious topic.

-”... and Robards gave him a task force too, can you believe it? He’s done next to no progress, but that pathetic excuse for flobberworm mucus would rather frame himself as the perpetrator than hand over the sodding case to us. He’s shoved so far up Robard’s ass that only his feet will wiggle,” Ron shook his head in contempt and took a drink. As comical as Ron was in his exasperation sometimes, Harry sympathised with his friend’s predicament. He had worked with his fair share of difficult coworkers and customers, but hardly anyone matched Sergeant Honeyfoot’s caliber.

It was Hermione’s turn to maintain the Muffliato around the table that night, as was their custom whenever they ventured out together. It was considered a bit rude in any respectful establishment, but seen as it prevented eavesdropping of any kind, the three of them quit caring; it was difficult to maintain appearances when one regularly found themself misquoted on the Prophet’s front page. Also, the Leaky Cauldron wasn’t exactly famed for being fancy.  With a full stomach, a pint in his hand and the company of his two best friends, Harry was feeling marginally better than he had a few hours ago. He almost forgot what a disastrous wreck his day had been ever since setting foot in the laboratories. Almost.

-”Did you know that Draco sodding Malfoy was the new Potions Master at the Ministry?” Harry couldn’t help but blurt out, hoping his friends would share in the indignation. ”What happened to Bertha? Why did she retire so suddenly?”

If Ron and Hermione thought Harry could not see the brief sideways glance they shared, they were dead wrong.

-”...yes?” Hermione replied. Harry did not miss Hermione’s questioning tone, either. She leaned back in the chair and gave him a confused look. ”If you’re referring to Bernice Jiggers, I heard she had retired to take care of her husband, but that’s about what I know. I think they released him from St. Mungos some month ago.”

-”Why didn’t you tell me?” Harry demanded.

Ron and Hermione looked confused for some reason, but they surely could not match Harry in that respect. They looked like they weren’t sure what Harry was getting at. 

-”We didn’t think it was important enough to mail you over, mate,” Ron took another drink, “it’s just Malfoy.” Harry decided to ignore the implied ‘who cares ’, because apparently he was missing something, and frowned at the both of them.

-”I met him today, when I wanted to get my potions,” Harry carried on conversationally, “which  _ he _ won’t make. And apparently, I can’t order them anywhere else without some bloody form either, one which  _ he _ has to sign. I assume they won’t sell me the ingredients without it either, if I wanted to brew them myself,” Harry bristled, “which may be just as well, since I can’t brew Dragon’s Breath for shite and would probably set the house on fire.” 

Neither Ron or Hermione seemed to have anything to say. Harry was unsure how to interpret the impartial expressions of his friends. He also realised his house was in a lot of danger of arson lately.   

-”What, do you think Malfoy won’t sign the form? Did he say that?” Hermione asked in all seriousness, and Harry nearly choked on his ale. This conversation was beginning to feel a lot like a part of some alternate universe Harry wasn’t aware he had woken up to.

-”Are we still speaking about Draco Malfoy? Pale, blond, absolute knob? Why in Merlin’s name would he do anything for me?”

-”It appears we still are, for some unfathomable reason,” Ron muttered into his glass, in a tone that suggested he was very much over the conversation. Harry felt betrayed.

-”Harry,” Hermione began, and he immediately detected the manner which she used when she tried persuading Hugo or Rose out of some nonsense.

-“...yes, it’s Malfoy, he’s likely still as pleasant as a bag of snakes, I never want to talk to him again in my life if I can help it, but,” while Hermione talked, Ron was downing his ale with admirable speed, “I’m sure if he was qualified enough to be hired, he will be professional. It’s been fifteen years. Don’t get me wrong, but something tells me he’s the last person who will dig around in the has-beens, so just… have it processed?” Harry took a hasty breath to reply, but Hermione interrupted him once more: ”Try it. It’s only one signature, and you don’t even have to see him to get it.”  _ It’s not a big deal.  _ Harry pretended he wasn’t disappointed that his friends weren’t more involved in the topic, and took a gulp of his ale.    

-”You should have seen it. The labs were silent as a graveyard, and Shiva was ordered to partake in some extra training, can you believe it? It’s just...” Harry inspected the half-empty pint glass, which suddenly became extremely interesting. ”Where has he been all this time? What is he doing here, and why now? It makes no sense.”

-”Mate.” Ron looked at him skeptically, and scratched at the stubble on his jaw. ”From what I know, the laboratories have been running smoothly, maybe even smoother than before.” Ron grimaced.

Since his best friend was definitely not eager to give Malfoy any credit where it wasn’t due, Harry assumed this borderline praise meant that the efficiency of the laboratories must have increased tenfold at least. He couldn’t decide if he was more shocked Ron was openly approving of Malfoy’s work, or impressed that Malfoy managed to improve the lab’s productivity in such a short time.

-”I wager he showed up because Malfoy senior’s being released for good.” Hermione added noncommittally, and drummed on her glass. Ron only shrugged, and suppressed a yawn. Meanwhile, Harry’s eyebrows essentially disappeared in his hairline.

Lucius Malfoy, the notorious Death Eater who actively conspired to murder all three of them on numerous occasions, and who attempted to kill Ginny as well, would walk free. Yet, his friends looked like they were discussing something vaguely unpleasant, like getting soot on yourself in the floo, or missing a portkey. Harry again considered the possibility of having entered an alternate universe. He couldn’t believe he had forgotten that Lucius Malfoy would be getting out of Azkaban this year. He even remembered talking about it with Andromeda several months prior. Apparently, Narcissa was making plans to move them out from the Manor after her husband’s release. Harry had been only half-listening to the firecall then, having been in the middle of lecturing Teddy about trying to borrow Harry’s bike without consent (to look cool in front of Victoire Weasley, no less).  

Now that Hermione pointed it out, Harry was sure she was right.

They bought another round of drinks, and while the conversation shifted to Rose’s latest shenanigans at Hogwarts and McGonagall’s insistent offer for Harry to teach (which Hermione strongly encouraged), Harry couldn’t lose the obtrusive image of Malfoy in the back of his mind. He decided that he would submit the form directly to the blond prat. He would not avoid Malfoy like some coward.

Besides, the new Potions Master was still due some adequate payback.


	3. Sunday Morning Existential Humor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!  
> I'm incredibly sorry for the large break, luckily I am done with uni for the Summer, so I expect I should start posting more regularly! 
> 
> thank you for being patient!
> 
>  
> 
> also, thank you @sappypotter for your support<3

_ Sunday, October 7th _

 

Harry hurled the wailing alarm clock across the room. The “Meow-O’Clock” - another of Luna’s silly gifts -  bounced off the wall, and fell right into a heap of dirty laundry strewn on the wooden floor, the result of Harry’s misunderstanding with the laundry basket after he had stumbled into the bedroom a few hours before daybreak. Instead of shutting up on impact though, the alarm insistently yowled on, undeterred by now being installed inside a sock.

An inhumane sound, eerily reminiscent of a mating erumpent, escaped Harry as he buried his head underneath a pillow and hated himself. He would never go out with Dean and Seamus again. This was obviously a gross lie Harry kept telling himself; every time the couple managed to drag him out for drinks, Harry was determined not to repeat the occasion. Usually it took approximately a week until Harry’s selective amnesia set in -  possibly to protect him from the trauma - and two more weeks until the prospect of going out with the Thomas-Finnigans seemed irresistibly attractive, and Harry always gave in. Rinse and repeat. He dragged himself out of bed, feeling like a newborn foal on his unsteady legs. His body felt heavy and awkward as he slowly made his way to the alarm clock, and cursed Luna for getting him the model that had to be operated manually in order to turn off. His mouth tasted like something had died in it earlier. Probably his self-respect.

-”Shut up shut up shut up-” Harry dug out the Meow-O’clock from the clothing pile, and disorientedly tried to turn it off. A few failed attempts and a selection of colorful curses later, he at last managed to get the right combination of buttons and taps, and the room went blissfully silent. Harry’s dull, but intense headache was especially appreciative of this course of events. For a moment Harry just stood on the spot with his eyes closed, and tried to focus his attention on the sudden quiet of the room. He briefly debated crawling back under the sheets, but the queasiness in his stomach and aforementioned headache were enough to convince him to act like an adult and get a Hangover Potion. He was expected to attend a late Sunday lunch at the Burrow on Ron’s invitation, and he couldn’t very well go there borderline nauseous and looking like he’d been run over by the Hogwarts Express multiple times. 

With yet another prolonged groan, he grabbed his glasses from the nightstand and properly looked at the mess in the bedroom. If he didn’t know better, he’d think someone had broken in and had devious sex on every relatively flat surface, or that perhaps a herd of hippogryffs came through. He spied his wand sticking out of the pocket of his discarded jeans, which for some reason were draped over the open bathroom door, and mentally checked it off from his internal list of immediate priorities. He was still wearing his underwear, the t-shirt he wore out, and one sock which he promptly took off and threw in the vague direction of the rest of his clothing. Aside from the laundry basket, he also knocked over the duffel bag from Cardiff, the contents of which were now mixed with the rest of the wreckage on the floor. One of the curtains from his canopy bed was torn down entirely where he had grabbed it for balance at night. The armchair had been moved in the direction where he assumedly banged into it too. Several small items were knocked off from the top of his dresser and nightstand, including the lamp and files he sometimes took to read before sleep. Harry sighed.  Blatantly stepping over the mayhem, he entered the bathroom and grabbed his wand on the way. He started frantically rummaging the drawers and cabinets for the potion. He was fairly sure he never made it to the bathroom in the early hours of morning, and simply fell face-down on his bed upon arriving. The surrounding mess was evidence enough of the difficult journey, but despite of that, the disarray in the bath was nearly as bad as in the bedroom. A rising suspicion surfaced from the depths of Harry’s momentarily foggy consciousness when he couldn’t find the Hangover Potion in its usual place, and he swore under his breath. Generally, Harry didn’t drink much or very often, so his supply of hangover remedies was rather sparse. Dean and Seamus were really the only ones who managed to rope him into an impromptu muggle bar crawl; Harry was secretly glad that their professions didn’t allow for such outings more than once every few months.

Apparently, because Harry had shown up at work on Friday instead of Monday, Seamus a.k.a. The Gossip Extraordinaire immediately contacted his better half, who was very eager to conduct Operation Golden Boy a few weeks early. Dean owled Luna, who aside from buying copious amounts of obnoxious cat-themed merchandise was more than happy to unnecessarily involve herself in Harry’s nonexistent love life at every opportunity, and was thus a valued accomplice. She in turn owled Professor Longbottom whether he could spare a moment to get his ass to London, presumably to help ruin Harry’s life too. Ever since getting married, Seamus and Dean became overly invested in spreading the joys of a happy relationship and inflicting mostly unwanted dating advice on any witch or wizard in near vicinity. Harry, being notoriously single and not ready to mingle, soon became the target of the couple’s humanitarian service. Harry of course knew of this, he’d been “casually” introduced to enough witches that even assuming troll IQ he could not exactly be fooled by their intentions. However, he was oblivious enough not to realise that he’d been singled out from among their friend circle. Harry’s social ineptness when it came to dating was formidable if not legendary, and his friends seemingly couldn’t just idly stand by and watch the trainwreck any longer.

Harry leaned against the corner of the bathtub. Being out of Hangover Potion, he had no choice; brewing it by himself was out of question, as he neither had the ingredients or the capacity for the delicate process of potion making. He could firecall Ron, but he’d rather not risk having his current predicament brought up over lunch at the Burrow . Harry knew that the Weasleys meant well, besides, they had gone out for drinks and had commiserated through countless hangovers together, at least before Rose was born. Harry just wasn’t really in the mood to be cheered at and getting patted on the back for going out once every blue moon. Especially not if the leading back-patter was Ginevra Weasley; somehow specifically her concern for his social-slash-romantic life made him feel pathetic.  

Drastic measures were called for. Harry, still slumping against the bath, offhandedly cast Accio for the wallet from the pocket of yesterday’s jeans. He didn’t quite dare to look inside, but he did check off another item from his priority list. Unearthing some sweatpants that looked the least dirty in the mess was a different challenge entirely, but his endeavor was ultimately successful. An experimental sniff to the shirt Harry’d already been wearing only confirmed that it really did smell like a pile of decaying blast-ended skrewts. Harry tried to improve the situation with an express laundry charm, but it didn’t help much. It wasn’t like Harry wouldn’t wear a jacket anyway, it was October for Merlin’s sake.  

Harry wasn’t naive enough to believe he would manage to be entirely incognito, but he did hope the scarf and Teddy’s beanie would help obscure his identity enough while he ventured on his quest for hangover-relievers. If not, he would find out by way of tabloids soon enough anyway.   

 

***

 

Harry sincerely hoped that the entertained Pharmacist (who looked disturbingly like she could be Nymphadora Tonks’ younger sister) wasn’t watching him as he drowned the potion right outside the Apothecary. Or at least that she wouldn’t relay the story to the first possible customer. Perhaps he was being paranoid, but to Harry’s defense it wouldn’t have been the first time that speculative articles emerged over his personal purchases. The one column congratulating Harry after he’d been spied buying condoms was still a frequently quoted hit among his friends. He grimaced at the sour-bitter taste of the potion, but he could already tell it was working: his headache was fading, and the queasiness in his stomach turned into a few inappropriate, but relieving burps. The heaviness in his limbs lifted, and his malfunctioning thermoregulation settled, at least enough that he didn’t break into cold sweat every five minutes, only to feel like he was burning at the stake two seconds later. 

Once Harry quit wishing for death’s embrace, he concluded that the worst was mostly over. After having been killed twice in his lifetime already, the existential humour never quite left him - something that his friends never came to understand entirely. To be fair, wishing to be bludgeoned to death by the Whomping Willow at every minor inconvenience (e.g. spilling milk, losing his favourite quill, or forgetting to buy eggs) perhaps wasn’t the best approach to introduce them to Harry’s particular kind of witticisms.  He stretched his back, and as he took a refreshing breath of Wizard London air, he realised that his morning crusade was far from concluded. Harry still didn’t manage to appease Archibald enough to make him coffee that he could drink and not die. Harry would sell Voldemort his soul for an espresso, instead of the vile black sludge that the coffee maker currently served. And while he was at it, a piece of toast and some scrambled eggs would not go amiss either. Harry’ stomach growled unhelpfully.

Having swung by the Apothecary at Carkitt Market, he decided that he’d risk visiting the Hopping Pot for a quick, but hearty breakfast. It was far less likely he would meet anyone he knew there, much less in his current “disguise”. Besides, it wasn’t like he frequented the pub. He remembered coming there maybe once or twice in company, but surely that would not be enough for the owner to expect Harry to show up. Unlike many other taverns and shops, the Hopping Pot had a long tradition, and did not need to rely on Harry’s fame to boost the business. Unsurprisingly, Harry had liked it. He thought he almost preferred the Carkitt Market to the Diagon Alley; regardless of the season or time of day, the market bustled with witches and wizards, goblins, sometimes hags, and even rarer lone druids. It was loud, busy, smelly and often overwhelming, but Harry had come to appreciate the temporary anonymity which the commotion lent him for a while. It never lasted of course; Harry’s face was still much too well-known to go unnoticed entirely, but usually it took long enough that he managed to run his errands without being harassed as much.

Harry entered the Hopping Pot, and made a beeline for the first available table he could spot from the door. The place was small, but cozy - it was dominated by a long bar with faded lacquering that stretched over the length of the panelled wall. Lanterns floated overhead and cast a warm light on the slightly shabby tavern. There were tables and mismatched chairs cluttered all over the establishment, and outside were a few benches, largely occupied by smokers. Harry tried not to gag as he rushed through - after their outing last night, he could barely stand the smell, despite having regrettably smoked a fair share of cigarettes himself. It was a bad habit that he fell into while recovering after the war, one of a few, but he had fortunately managed to kick most of them over time. He rarely smoked anymore, but his inhibitions plummeted whenever he’s had one beer too many. Which was essentially always when Seamus and Dean were involved. 

Harry was sitting at a table near the bar, and dug in as soon as he received his order. So far, he had not been approached even once by anyone but the waitress, not while he against all better judgement enthusiastically shovelled eggs and bacon into the maw in the middle of his face, and not after he’d stepped out of the pub either. He counted this as a success, and a good sign to push his luck even further. He walked to the opposite side of the market, towards his favourite place to get coffee in the whole of London when he had time to spare. The tiny pâtisserie tucked in the building’s corner seemed unassuming at first; were it not for the smell of fresh pastries and coffee, Harry would have walked by a million times without noticing it at all. He had told the owner as much, only to be informed in a thick french accent and a perfectly bored tone, that apparently he had still “found his way inside, no?”  

Harry had tipped her nearly twice the price of his coffee, then.

Aside from maybe two or three other customers, the little shop was still blessedly empty, clearly having just opened. When she spotted him from behind the counter, Madeleine promptly turned away with her back to Harry, barely concealing her trembling lip and the twitch in the corner of her shapely mouth. She didn’t manage to stop her whole frame from shaking with suppressed laughter, though.  

-”Ha-ha, very funny. I may choke laughing.” Harry rolled his eyes at her, but he was fighting off a smile himself.

-”...the usual? Or,” Maddie obviously put effort into not delighting in Harry’s misery, but he knew it was a losing battle. She knew it, too. “...should I make it a double? With Stupefy on the side?”

Harry snorted. ”Surprise me. You know, it looks way worse than it is,” he gestured at himself, and Maddie almost did start laughing out loud this time.

-”That’s a lie,” she shook her head, but she was grinning still as she prepared Harry his favourite espresso: tiny, black, and tooth-rottingly sweet.

-”Yes.” Harry admitted, and handed her a few silver coins in exchange. ”What’s so surprising about this?” he teased, raising his eyebrow at what appeared to be his usual order. Madeleine only presented him with a challenging grin, and said no more.  

-”Now,” she tutted, “thank me later. I want to hear all of it, mind you.” She said in a conspiratorial tone, and vaguely gestured at his outfit. Before Harry could properly respond however, she turned her attention to the next approaching customer with a sweet smile.

-”See you later,” Harry said with an awkward wave of the hand. He’d have to send her a paper napkin crane with a promise to come by tomorrow morning for longer chat - he’d never make it to the Burrow otherwise. Madeleine de Fer was a brilliant witch whom he was glad to count among his friends, but she was also an incorrigible, curious meddler.

He turned to sit in his favourite frequented spot, at a long narrow table in front of the large shop windows. They offered the view of most of the market square, and often while he was having his coffee, Harry liked to entertain himself simply by people watching, occasionally even creating backstories to the unknowing protagonists of his secret play. Sometimes he witnessed the most curious scenarios: Goblins from Gringotts Money Exchange playing cards on their break, stray cats and kneazles trying to repeatedly sneak into the Hopping Pot’s kitchens, even dubious exchanges between shady looking wizards in an alley nearby. Being an observer rather than the observed was strangely relaxing and interesting at the same time, and Harry realised that perhaps aside from Teddy, he had never shared this silly little past time of his with anyone else, and he guarded it with care. Harry wasn’t entirely sure why.  He took an experimental sip from the tiny cup. He immediately scrunched up his face when the faint taste of Ogden’s Whiskey broke through the coffee, and his breakfast made a few rolls in his formerly quieted stomach. Harry nearly snapped his neck turning around at Maddie, meaning to politely glare until she noticed him mouthing ‘ motherfucker ’ at her. That’s when he perceived a slight movement from the corner of his eye and froze. Not two seats from him, Draco Malfoy was watching Harry with a very puzzled expression plastered on his face. 

Equally perplexed, Harry took in the scene before him: Malfoy was dressed in smart black robes, holding a half-eaten pink macaron halfway to his mouth. In the palm of his other hand, he held what Harry was sure was the newest model of ScryPhone. He couldn’t help noticing how long and pale Malfoy’s fingers were against the thin black rectangle; his nails were clean and trimmed, and he was wearing a simple silver ring on his index finger. In front of him on the long shared bank, there sat a tiny plate, empty but for a few crumbs, and next to it a steaming paper cup with the cover on side. It appeared that Malfoy had just been interrupted in the middle of a casual Sunday breakfast.

And then there was Harry. In his worn red sneakers, sweatpants and a leather jacket, which used to belong to Sirius and has been a tight fit around Harry’s shoulders for some time, but which he still refused to alter or god forbid toss out. The jacket that he was too afraid to take off lest the smell of a barely functioning express laundry spell be unleashed upon the general public. And Draco Malfoy. Even being notorious for his pitiful sense of fashion, Harry would have preferred if the sole witness to his disgrace today was not this pompous git. Whose signature he still needed to continue his job, by the way.

Harry mentally braced himself for a quip that would undoubtedly come flying, prepared to return the favour in full. But Malfoy only stuffed the rest of the macaron inside his mouth, tucked away his phone and slowly started gathering the rest of his things. He got up from his seat and took the paper cup, apparently leaving the pâtisserie. Harry raised an eyebrow. Was Malfoy ignoring him now?

-”Not that I have expertise in the matter,” Malfoy turned to him with a bored look. 

_ Ah. There we go _ , thought Harry. ”...but if you’re looking to do social experiments of the poorest taste, I believe St. Mungo’s Shelter is a few streets north from here. Also, you smell like a thousand dying blast-ended skrewts.”  

Malfoy was out of the door before Harry could retort something more wholesome than an insulted huff. Unbelievable. The fact that he confirmed what Harry had established about the smell situation previously, and nearly word for word, did not help Harry’s temper in the least. Not to mention, this was the second time that Harry failed to deliver an equally acrid retort to Malfoy’s obnoxious taunts. Irritated, he knocked down the rest of the espresso, forgetting the whiskey entirely. His previously improved mood soured, enough that he didn’t care to spend more time at the pastry shop than necessary. He scrawled a hasty note to Maddie on a folded paper napkin that he left by his cup. Before he exited the pâtisserie, he gave Maddie a tired wave. She didn’t see him.

Conceited blond prick. As if Harry of all people would ever think of mocking those in need.

Even knowing that in the nick of time he had managed to spell a large, glowing-red drawing of a penis on Malfoy’s back didn’t cheer him up as much as expected.

 

***

 

_ Sunday, October 7th _

 

 

Despite the years living at Grimmauld Place, Harry still felt the warm relief of coming home whenever he entered the Weasleys’ abode. Ever since Arthur became a vital part of the flourishing business Technomancy Inc., and at the same time the recipient of its generous payroll, over the years the Burrow had gradually gone through various reconstructions. The damages from the war and ones inflicted by the tooth of time were repaired easily enough, but the Burrow was additionally enhanced by a selection of professional expansion and stabilisation charms. Even though the Weasleys could easily afford to splurge now, Molly and Arthur were still naturally modest and out of habit reluctant to replace things unless it was absolutely necessary. Molly’s kitchen appliances have been upgraded, most of them by the products of the magi-tech business, much to her dismay (the new, self-cleaning and self-regulating pots and pans simply weren’t as good as the old ones, and the oven was just rude). Arthur’s workshop located in the outside shed also got a significant boost; at least from what Harry knew, his collection of mostly bizarre muggle machines grew exponentially.

Other than that, the Burrow remained pretty much the same disorganised, charmingly homely chaos. Old Wellington boots and rusty cauldrons still lay in a clutter near the back door, and the chickens were still roaming the lawn, clucking away happily. The Weasley children and Harry de-gnomed the garden and the orchard periodically. The only one who fell victim to the restorative works on the house was the Weasley family ghoul, who decided to move out from his nest indefinitely. Ginny still mourned his loss to every willing and unwilling ear.

Harry, along with Ron, Ginny and the twins were lounging in the living room, trying to will their full stomachs into doing their jobs. How Harry still failed to say no to dessert after years of practice, he had no idea.

-”Why didn’t you stop me,” Ron groaned pitifully, and tried to turn on his other side as he lay on the fluffy living room carpet. He failed. ”I thought you were my best friend,” Ron dramatically closed his eyes. The only thing missing was a single manly tear rolling down his cheek, to complete the image of utter betrayal.

-”Your accusations won’t stand, you have an extraordinarily bright wife whom you should have listened to,” Harry pointed out, and threw a pillow in the vague direction of Ron’s misery. By the sound of Ron’s yelp, he hit.

-”I thought you maintained that the Weasleys grew a separate stomach for desserts, Ronnie-kins. You’re full of shite.” Fred was lying right across George, who emitted a continuous, dying-whale-like wail.

-”Suck a-”

-”If I may interrupt this extremely meaningful conversation,” Hermione’s sarcastic voice carried into the living room, followed by the witch herself, “I saw something funny today at Gringotts.”

-”Lies and slander. Nothing funny ever happened at Gringotts. You just came to entertain yourself at our expense, and to thrive on our suffering,” Ron protested, with his eyes still closed.     

-”Yes,” Hermione laughed, “but I also saw something funny at Gringotts, you ungrateful glutton.” She sat down on the carpet next to Ron, who meanwhile adopted a fetal position, and stroked his hair. ”I saw Malfoy there, running errands I guess. With a giant red penis glowing on his back.”

That got everyone’s attention. Harry tried not to look too smug. In hindsight, it did make him feel better.

-” _ No _ ,” Ginny sounded impressed as she turned to Hermione with a bright smirk. “Can’t say I care much about the clown either way, but I’d still like to thank the person responsible for that.”

-”I accept flowers and gift baskets with your congratulations,” Harry announced with obvious satisfaction, and stretched in the armchair he was occupying.

For a few seconds, the room fell silent. Ginny and Fred erupted in laughter. Ron’s face stretched into an amused grin, but Hermione didn’t even try to look surprised. George kept wailing, only a bit more cheerfully.

-”Nice one, Harry.” Fred approved, “...haven’t you been in London for like, three days?”

-”What happened though, how do you two have beef already?” Ginny inquired, but she was still laughing.

Ron and Hermione shared the Look again.   

-”Well. I met him this morning at the pâtisserie-”

-”You still go there?” Ginny’s attention shifted with lightning speed. Especially if it concerned “eligible” witches whom Harry could be interested in. “Does Maddie still work there? Did you see her?”

Harry heard Fred trying to cover his laughter with an impromptu coughing fit. He was internally rolling his eyes, and already cataloguing nearby objects he could use to end his misery if the need arose. He only stopped when he remembered he had a magic wand. Ginny wasn’t especially subtle about wanting Harry to “move on with his life”. He had, in fact; she just failed to grasp that the state of being single wasn’t mutually exclusive with the concept. To be fair, she wasn’t the only one by far.  

-”Yes, Gin,” Harry tried to tone down the irritation in his voice as best as he could. Ginny meant well. “She’s the owner, so she’s there most of the time. Anyway, I met Malfoy there too, and unsurprisingly enough, he was being an unpleasant, rude piece of shite. So I played a little prank on him.” Harry shrugged innocently, and pretended he didn’t see Hermione’s questioning look. Ginny on the other hand completely dismissed the additional piece of information.

-”Maddie is very lovely-”

-”Yes, Ginny.” Harry cut in, hoping she would get the memo. He still counted Ginny among his best friends, and he still loved her as such, but he really did not care to have that conversation again. He suspected that with each passing year that he spent single, Ginny became more and more weighed down by an insistent little voice going by the name of Guilt. Harry realised she probably could not help it - he imagined he wouldn’t fare any differently had the tables been turned -  but he would also rather spend the rest of his life grooming the Giant Squid than have Ginny play matchmaker for him.

-”Harry, I talked to Q, do you think you will have time to see him with me tomorrow at the mortuary?” Once again, Ron was a life-saver. Harry could have snogged him.

-”Yes, yes of course. I should be at my desk mostly, let me know whenever,” he replied.

Ginny did indeed back off, and was now very preoccupied with her nails. By the way she was scowling at them, they must have offended her greatly. Involuntarily, Harry remembered Malfoy’s hands at the pastry shop.  _ Salazar’s balls _ . Perhaps he really should go back and ask Maddie to Stupefy him today.

-”The mortuary? Had somebody been cursed to death recently?” Hermione asked with interest.

-”Perhaps.” Ron stifled a yawn, and kissed Hermione’s hand.

The room fell silent again. They could hear Molly shuffle about the kitchen with Percy, and occasionally Hugo’s ringing laughter from the direction of the shed, where Arthur was undoubtedly cooking up some mischief. From his seat, Harry studied the magical Weasley family clock that still hung above the fireplace. It now included newest family members as well: Hermione, Hugo and Rose, Bill’s  Fleur, Victoire and Dominique, and Jack, Charlie’s partner.

Harry smiled. He promised himself that if he ever had opportunity, he’d try making such a clock too, even if it was for him and Teddy only for now. He was sure Teddy would be delighted in his own teenaged way. Maybe he’d even say “cool”, but Harry didn’t dare hold to such speculations.

-”I’m seeing Quidditch at Hogwarts next week. I think it’s on Thursday. Anyone care to join me?” Harry asked.

-”Can’t, I’m swamped at work still,” Ron sighed. “I’ll be seeing the next one though, Rose will be playing then too, I think.”

-”Me neither, Hugo has an appointment at the dentist,” Hermione said, “...I think my parents just want to see him more often, to be honest,” she shook her head. Everyone knew Hermione’s parents were secretly afraid they’d never be as cool to their grandchildren as their magical counterparts. It didn’t matter how often Hermione and the kids visited or reassured them, they still felt the need to overcompensate in every aspect. Hermione eventually gave up trying to talk them out of it.

-”I have to see the business in Dublin,” Fred begun, “...and this one has to stay in London.” He patted his brother’s arm, whose wailing sneakily turned into snoring.

-”I’d love to go, but we’re playing a match in Sussex,” Ginny said.

-”Alright then.” Harry yawned. No matter; at least he could see McGonagall without any rush. He couldn’t claim he was looking forward to that part of his trip, but seeing Teddy and taking him out for a butterbeer in Hogsmeade was well worth it. Harry missed his godson very much, even though Teddy was in that special phase of his life when he behaved obnoxiously more often than not, and considered everything to be either “cool” or embarrassing. However, remembering what he was doing as a teenager, Harry was secretly glad that Teddy was only rebelling against him and Andromeda, instead of the entirety of the British Government.    

Suddenly, Molly’s face poked out of the doorway. ”Darlings, can I interest anyone in tea and cranberry pie?”

The living room groaned in unison.

 

 

 

 

   


	4. Sign of the Times

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I hope you will enjoy this chapter, plot is happening!  
> <3
> 
> thank you @sappypotter for your support <3
> 
>  
> 
> Yes, the title is a pun

_Monday, October 8th_

 

As soon as he passed the large ebony door leading to the front office of the morgue, Harry was again reminded of how grateful he was not to have to spend time in there any more frequently. He didn’t expect many people really enjoyed it, no, but there was something particularly disturbing about the atmosphere that gave him goose flesh every time. The mortuary at the Ministry of Magic was located on the lowest level of the building, right across the laboratories. The laboratories have always reminded Harry of muggle hospitals, sterile and unwelcoming. The morgue though was sterile, unwelcoming, grim and extremely cold thanks to the multitude of cooling charms. Harry half expected stray dementors to appear from behind his back.

The fact that the morgue had a history of accidental, but fairly regular dementor spawns until the late 1960s did not reassure him in the least.  

The “office”, which was more or less just a small vestibule dividing visitors from the actual mortuary, contained only an ancient looking threadbare couch, and a coffee table. The air was heavy with aromatic incense, intended to cover the sharp disinfectant charms as well as the underlying, sweetish smell of death. In Harry’s humble opinion, it wasn’t too effective.

Reluctantly, Harry sat down on the couch as he waited for Ron to appear. They’d agreed to meet in the morgue after Ron’s meeting with Robards and Honeyfoot; while such meetings always yielded new stories of the detestable Sergeant for Ron to entertain his friends with, Harry would prefer if this time his friend hurried. As Harry understood it, they were only allowed for inspection as long as the Head Coronary wasn’t present. Unlike Ron, as a Curse Breaker Harry didn’t enjoy the privilege of getting appointments all around the Ministry whenever he asked, or at all. In most Ministry departments, Harry’s fame preceded his professional standing. As loathe as he was to exploit this benefit, even he couldn’t deny having access nearly everywhere was extremely practical, not to mention time-saving.

Unfortunately, the Mortuary of the Ministry of Magic wasn’t such place.

With a struggle the heavy door creaked open, and revealed an annoyed-looking Head Auror. Harry thought he heard him murmur something at the door. Something that sounded suspiciously like “sodding piece of shite wood”. Harry bit his lip to stop himself from laughing.

-”Hello Harry, sorry to have kept you waiting. Someone at the meeting mistook it for an audition at the Buckingham Palace,” Ron rolled his eyes.

Harry was genuinely looking forward to hearing _that_ story.   

-”I just got here too,” Harry said. -“Is he here yet?”

Ron only shrugged, and cast his patronus. Harry watched with unconcealed appreciation as the silvery lion shook out its mane, and waited until Ron instructed it to fetch Q. He remembered fondly Ron’s bafflement the first time the large cat appeared instead of the energetic terrier, sometime after Rose was born.

  It didn’t take long after the patronus disappeared through the closed door to the back for Assistant Bleckhest to emerge with a delighted smile on his face. Harry wondered idly why the morticians of all people wore their garb in a pristine white colour.

-”Gentlemen,” Q hastily took off his working gloves and shook their hands. His hands were cold and clammy.

-”Please follow me. I received word from Head Coronary, he shouldn’t arrive until later in the afternoon, but I’d prefer if we could conclude the business as quickly as possible,” Q looked at Ron apologetically.

-”Of course, don’t sweat it. We’re not going to trouble you, I’m not exactly eager to spend more time here than necessary.” Ron commented as he looked around and scratched his chin, subtle as ever.

-”Can’t imagine why,” Q deadpanned, but he smiled. He then ushered them through the door and the adjacent corridor. As they walked towards the work room, the temperature dropped even further, and Harry discreetly cast a warming charm on his robes. He tried not to think too hard of essentially visiting in a large corpse refrigerator.  

In the far back of the corridor, similar to the laboratories, was the Head Coroner’s office. The working room could be either accessed through there, or a side entrance on the left side of the corridor. Across from it was a row of three doors; Harry assumed one of them was the assistant’s office, and at least one must have been a storage of some sort. Ron once told him the work room had one other exit: an age-old tunnel through which the mortuary transported the dead bodies. Harry didn’t wish to know how Ron knew.

With Q in the lead they entered the large hall of the working room. The ceiling was magically heightened, with a pattern of bright, glowing lights illuminating the space underneath. One wall was made entirely of what appeared to be stainless steel drawers ( _corpse refrigerator_ , Harry’s mind contributed), and on the other side was a less modern arrangement of cupboards and desks, as well as an old tub and a few sinks. In the middle of the room was a raised podium with three massive mortuary tables made of dark marble, with large ornate drains underneath each. At the moment, two out of the three tables were occupied.

-”This here,” Q bid Ron and Harry closer to the table on the right, “is a male victim, about fifty years of age. We assume he was a squib based on spell results,” with a flick of his wand, the assistant uncovered the cadaver to his waist. Harry winced slightly; Ron however looked unperturbed.

-”He was found washed out on the bank of the Thames,” Q continued as he fetched the file prepared on a nearby table, “we thought he was a floater at first, but I’m really of the opinion that wasn’t the case. I believe the water got into his lungs only because he’d been in water for some time before surfacing. Besides, it’s hardly possible he’d stay positioned rigidly like we found him. We haven’t discovered the precise spell yet, but it must have been quite something, having held so long after he died, and that alone is evidence enough that the spell couldn’t have been self-inflicted.” Q shrugged.

-”We don’t have a name or any leads who he really was, so that certainly complicates matters. Coroner Dullahan allowed me to keep him in a stasis for two weeks for additional testing to see if I could find out more. Good thing I convinced him, too.” Frowning, Ron took the file and perused it. Meanwhile, Harry had a closer look at the unlucky victim. The conserving stasis spell Q used saved the body from decomposing at the speed it would naturally do once exposed to air. It appeared the morticians managed to reverse some of the damage the water had done on the body, but being wizards didn’t make them gods - the dead was still in a pretty bad shape. However, Harry still could detect obvious similarities between what he’d seen of photos of Warwick, despite the progressed decay.

Harry tried to hold back from grimacing too much as he inspected the cadaver, but the pungent smell was enough to make his stomach roll. How Q dealt with this on everyday basis was beyond Harry’s understanding.  As drowners went, this one wasn’t much different on the first glance. The man’s body was heavily bloated, with a sickly greenish hue turning into darker bruises on it’s back where the blood collected as it lied on the table. The skin was already slipping off from the clenched fists and other parts where it moved, wrinkled and wet from the decomposing, soapy fat underneath. There was a large hole on the left side of the man’s breast where the heart had been.

-”So we have a nameless, probably murdered squib who’d been dumped in the river god knows where. Next to no leads. And this is the first time I hear of this because….?” Ron looked at Q and raised his eyebrows. He looked calm, but Harry was pretty sure he was bustling inside.

-”Because when I tested him, I couldn’t find any trace of the killing spell, or any known spell that could have caused this at all. The only outside indicator of murder is the missing heart, but the body is too far gone to determine if this was really the cause of death, or if it occurred post mortem. He still has to go through Investigation before aurors are called in.” Q looked partially sympathetic to Ron’s irritation, and at the same time extremely unsurprised.

-”Brilliant,” Ron muttered and handed the victim’s file to Harry’s expectant palm.

-”The good news is though, we’ve been recently informed by the muggle side there’d been some suspicious deaths on their end as well. I hear the liaison is working on getting at least one body from them. By the time the bureaucracy is through though, I fear the bodies will be completely useless what with their ‘technology’,” Q rolled his eyes.

-”Well I can’t really see how that’s good news exactly,” Harry announced as he studied the notes in the file, “but if you can confirm any similarities or can extract any more information from tests, I’d appreciate if I could have copies at least. I don’t suppose this one will last much longer?” Harry nodded in the drowner’s direction.

-”No. The spell is barely holding as it is,” Q sighed. -”We’re still not finished with Warwick here though,” Q pointed over his back at the other covered body on the table behind him.

-”Well, I am, but Dullahan and Malfoy still aren’t finished picking on him.”

That certainly caught Harry’s interest.

-”Malfoy?”

-”As the Potions Master, he’s responsible for some of the forensic tests too,” Ron explained, not quite able to hide the exasperation in his voice. He didn’t need to add ‘ _really, Harry?_ ’ to get his point across. Harry only managed a defensive shrug, but he didn’t quite understand Ron’s annoyance.

-”Yeah, that’s right. He’s been using some new methods from the continent I hear, and to be honest he’s much more efficient than Potions Master Jiggers. I quite like working with him,” Q commented, and again using his wand he covered up the victim when Ron was done with the examination.

Once again, Harry found himself at loss of words. He couldn’t say he was surprised at Q’s observation, especially not after Ron himself admitted Malfoy was doing well - after all, already at Hogwarts he counted among the top students. In fact, if Harry remembered correctly (and he was pretty sure he did), Malfoy’s performance was second only to Hermione’s. Hearing that he was proficient at his job didn’t really come as a shock. But for Harry to hear an impartial individual say they took any pleasure to even be around Malfoy (much less work with him!) not only surprised him; Harry found himself intrigued about this stranger disguised as his former rival.

Harry also found such thoughts perfectly worrying.

Almost on the same level as the fact that he thought Malfoy’s hands were nice.

The three of them slowly left the podium with the mortuary tables, and made their way towards the exit. As Ron and Q were talking, Harry secretly made a _Geminio_ -copy of the case file to add to the one he had on Warwick. Something bothered him, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on whatever it was about the reports. He’d have to have a look later at home.

-”Thank you Q. If you could, please keep me updated. If I can find any connection to the Warwick case at all, that would be immensely helpful,” Ron sighed, “with what I heard today from Honeyfoot, I don’t suppose that anyone at the Investigation is paying attention to anything but the cartel with illegal substances. In any case, I will try to persuade Robards into letting me take over. It could take weeks before the investigators determine anything relevant.”

-”No problem. I’ll see what I can do, although there’s no telling how long the liaison’s exchange is going to take. I’m going to owl you as soon as I know more.”

 

After Q had seen them out, Harry couldn’t help himself from teasing.

-”...say, how is it that the Head Auror has an inside man in the mortuary?” Harry couldn’t remember Ron ever telling him, but it all seemed very curious. Ron would have gone to the mortuary more often than Harry in any case, but surely not enough to befriend the staff to such extent.

Ron’s expression turned from borderline somber to a satisfied smirk.

-”Let’s just say, Mr. Bleckhest owes me favors. Forever.”

-”Poor bastard,” Harry shuddered, but he joined Ron in a good-natured laugh.

As they entered the lift and the door closed, Ron turned to him and pointed at one of the pockets on his auror robe.

-”If you want,” he cleared his throat, “while you were talking to Q I took the liberty of copying the morticians updated report. I don’t think Q enclosed it in the last file he sent.”

 

***

  


_Tuesday, October 9th_

 

Harry was standing in front of the laboratories, waiting for somebody to answer his patronus. Now that Malfoy was the Department’s leader, Harry wondered if he should have even bothered coming. He was reading the filled out form for the upteenth time, determined not to give Malfoy a chance to turn him away because of some small mistake on Harry’s part. Of course, magical forms could be corrected in a matter of seconds, but Harry didn’t intend to test it. He didn’t think Malfoy was above entertaining himself by dismissing Harry repeatedly for no real reason at all.   

Perhaps he should have thought of that before hexing a giant red cock on Malfoy’s back.

Sure enough, soon the large door opened and exposed a nervous-looking Assistant Hjort.

-”Good day. How can I help you, Agent?”

-”I’m here to see the Potions Master.” Harry managed to sound convincingly determined. He almost believed it himself, too.

Hjort gave Harry a very ‘ _are you kidding me_?’ look, which Harry found very cheeky from an assistant who still had remnants of teenage acne on his jaw, but he also could appreciate Hjort’s boldness somewhat. Hjort couldn’t really refuse him on visiting hours, and seen as he didn’t object or comment out loud, Harry let it pass. He briefly wondered how this kid survived working for Draco Malfoy with that attitude, though.

The assistant stepped away to let Harry in, and he didn’t even bother to give him directions before disappearing into one of the working rooms. Harry took a deep breath, and headed to the Potions Master’s office. He stood before the massive door, and gave it three sharp knocks before stepping away. When it seemed he’d have to try knocking more intensely again, the door suddenly swung open smoothly. Harry entered.

Like last time, Malfoy was sitting behind the desk, his papers organised in neat piles before him. The only addition was a large, complicated hourglass standing on the left, close to where Malfoy kept his ink bottle. Inadvertently, Harry remembered Malfoy was left-handed. And that his hands were nice.

He was also now staring at Harry with a look that would have made Snape proud.

-”What do you want here, Agent? I really don’t have time for your infantile ‘jokes’, I’m positive your fan base will be thrilled to help you in that regard.”

Harry too was positive he should have had hexed that dick onto Malfoy’s forehead, instead.

-”I need your signature approving my use and acquisition of restricted potions plus ingredients, here,” he pushed the form towards Malfoy.

He didn’t even look at it.

-”I know you are a local celebrity unfamiliar with practices of peons, but these are processed by the Administration. That’s the part of the building you access through Merlin’s Corrid-”

-”I know where Administration is,” Harry cut his jab off impatiently.

-”Excellent. So why the fuck are you wasting my time?” Malfoy challenged him icily.

Harry took another deep breath in an attempt to control his urge to decapitate the snooty prick. What he was about to say cost him enormous amounts of humility, but Harry wasn’t about to take the bait.

-”I don’t mean to waste your time, or mine. You know as well as I that processing this can take weeks-”

-”Welcome among mere mortals, then-” Malfoy begun dismissively, but Harry wouldn’t let him finish:

-”...I’m leaving for an assignment in a few days. I didn’t realise I needed this; but I _do_ need my potions and I wouldn’t have come down otherwise. It’s just one signature Malfoy, Merlin’s moldy tits.” He wanted to reason with Malfoy, but Harry was determined he wouldn’t beg - worst case scenario, he’d ask one of his colleagues if he could borrow the potions, or raid Brecher’s desk. It wasn’t like the old grump needed them right now, missing in action and all that. Harry could ask for official permission after he came back. But he’d much rather have the issue over and done with, preferably on his terms. The odds weren’t much in his favor, but Harry assumed with Malfoy they could only become worse over time.

For a while, Malfoy just stared at Harry, an intense glare drawn across his pale face. He then closed his eyes in contemplation, and Harry briefly wondered if perhaps that was his cue to leave before Malfoy did curse his ass. Judging from the tension in his shoulders and jaw, and the way he clenched and unclenched his wand hand, Malfoy was five seconds from imploding on himself. Probably out of the repressed instinct to jinx Harry into oblivion on sight.

-”How in the _fuck_ did you ignore the restriction for the entirety of _six years_?” Malfoy said slowly, pronouncing each word with care. He looked so thoroughly done with Harry Potter, and so much like his younger self from early Hogwarts years, that it almost made Harry laugh. Almost.

-”...blissfully.” Harry said after giving it a moment of thought and a shrug.

Malfoy looked ready to commit a felony.  

He took a deep breath.

Harry startled when he instead looked at the form in front of him, and held out his empty hand. Harry looked confusedly at those long elegant fingers, and to his utter horror he felt a small intrusive urge to touch them.

-”...your licence?” Malfoy asked impatiently through his teeth.

He hurriedly dug out his licence from the pocket of his robe and handed it to Malfoy, who appeared to proceed with checking whether all the information corresponded. Harry had significant trouble believing his eyes. He did not know what expectations he had before coming to the laboratories, but he was bloody sure that Malfoy actually meeting his request was not among the scenarios. Truthfully, he was more or less hoping to get a rise out of Malfoy at best; now that he was back in town, Harry could not deny his curiosity about what has become of the Malfoy scion.

Of course, Harry would fight ten Hungarian Horntails to deny such ridiculous notion if it came up.  

He did not look at Harry once as he meticulously went over the form, and Harry was grateful for it - he wasn’t sure what expression he should wear to cover the genuine surprise, or the speck of shame that nagged at his conscience. Nobody could blame him for being skeptical, he was sure. It wasn’t like Malfoy ever gave him reason to believe he had any decency to him.

At long last, Malfoy came to the dotted line on the bottom of the form. He signed it as if it were the most natural thing in the world.  

He reached the form to Harry, but he did not let go of the paper in his hand when Harry grabbed it.

-”I expect that you won’t bother me anymore.” Malfoy said in a serious tone. It wasn’t a request.

Harry looked at him properly once again. The whole exchange ended up being so far from what Harry could have anticipated that he did not know what to make of it. Or what to make of Malfoy, in fact. For some reason, the thought irritated Harry to no end.

-”That won’t be a problem.” Harry tugged the form free from Malfoy’s grasp, and gathered his licence. As he turned to leave, he noticed from the corner of his eye that Malfoy already continued working on papers of his own, frowning in concentration as he scribbled down his notes. It was as if Harry had never even been there.

-”Thank you.” Harry muttered, and fled out the door.

 

***

  


_Thursday, October 11th_

 

-”Harry!”

A booming voice called out to him right as Harry walked through the large gates surrounding the Hogwarts premises. His mouth broke into a smile when he saw the large form of Hagrid waving cheerfully. Around him were scattered Ravenclaw and Gryffindor students, who all curiously turned in Harry’s direction. Not for too long - Hagrid shortly instructed them to mind whatever their assigned work was at the moment, and was now making his way towards Harry. It looked like the students were collecting something in the grass, but they were too far for him to see.

-”Hagrid, how good to-…!” Harry only managed to exclaim before he was pulled into a bone-crushing hug.

-”How are yeh doin’? Came ter see the game?”

Hagrid finally let him go when it became clear Harry couldn’t hope to answer, being currently suffocated by Hagrid's beard. Harry was catching his breath, but he couldn’t stop grinning. It was brilliant to see Hagrid again.

-”Of course! Teddy’s playing. I have to talk to McGonagall before the match, but I could come after to see you?”

-”As if yeh have ter ask,” Hagrid smiled, ”good, come o’er fer tea when yer done visitin’ the headmistress, or after Quidditch.”

Hagrid gave him a friendly pat on the back. Harry‘s knees nearly buckled on impact.

 

When they parted, Harry took a good look at the familiar castle, just as he always did when he came back. He’s been coming there regularly ever since Teddy started attending, much to Teddy’s later dismay, but it took Harry a long time before he was ready to return to Hogwarts for the first time after the battle.

Unlike several of his friends, including Ron and Hermione, Harry did not return to Hogwarts to finish the studies properly once they were released from the witness protection program. He was granted permission to be schooled privately in the subjects needed for his N.E.W.T.s, and by the time his best friends graduated, Harry had already been enrolled into the curse-breaker course. Against better judgement and all advice, as usual. His healer insisted Harry should take at least one more year off before getting back into “real life”, but Harry was sure if he were trapped in the sham he’d been living for a day longer, he’d really go insane. He really had Ginny to thank for supporting him in weathering the worst, although there was only so much anyone could do to help him cope.

Everyone had scars.

But nobody understood, not really. Harry never blamed them.

He hadn’t really known what profession he wanted to pursue then, the only conclusion being that he couldn’t bear working as an auror. It was sheer luck that his N.E.W.T.s qualified him for the curse breaker training, and an even greater coincidence that Harry ended up enjoying it enough to want to stay in that line of work. The four years of training turned out to be some of the best in his life. It was then that he finally mustered enough will to return to Hogwarts.

He’d been invited over by Hagrid, who was the only one unafraid to ask time and again. Until at last Harry accepted, and didn’t look back.  

The castle looked serene in the bright midday sun, and Harry thought he lucked out on such rare weather. It was windy, which wasn’t ideal for Quidditch, but they’ve played in far worse. It was worth to note however that McGonagall chose a less hardcore approach than to Dumbledore’s time, and playing in freezing temperatures or thunderstorms had been abolished indefinitely. Much to students’ horror.

Harry walked up the pathway leading to the main entrance, taking in everything with an unconcealed delighted grin. Against the odds, Hogwarts was still home, and the comfortable familiarity of the place almost made him forget the unpleasant task at hand.   


	5. Audere est facere

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> back from vacation with a new chapter! 
> 
> @sappypotter <3

_ Thursday, October 11th _

  
  
  


On his way to the Headmistress’ office, in his usual attempt to avoid crowds of students Harry took care to use the least popular route, through abandoned corridors and hidden passageways, as many as he could remember without checking the Marauder’s Map. With Hermione’s help they altered it as soon as the castle’s reconstruction had been finalised, and they’d explored all new additions to the original layout. Or at least, all those they were able to find. Fred and George were delighted beyond words to having been of assistance on this mission. 

Despite not being a student anymore, Harry still felt thrilled to sneak around the castle unnoticed but for the echo of his footsteps. And to play an occasional prank on Peeves, when opportunity arose. Today however the hallways were positively void of any ghosts or poltergeists whatsoever. The midday sun was shining in through the tall, decorated windows. The sunbeams were reflecting off the polished suits of armor, as well as off a myriad of tiny dust particles, dancing and glittering through the air, which Harry disturbed as he walked in quiet haste. 

Since it was lunch time, the school was relatively free of the everyday traffic and getting to the Gargoyle Corridor unmolested proved to be an easy task. It was only when Harry stood in front of the actual gargoyle statue guarding the moving stairs that he realised he never inquired about the recent password. Of course.

Harry crossed his arms, and scowled at the unmoving figure as if that would persuade it to get out of his way. He could always try. He looked around the empty corridor, hoping for a miraculous appearance of some stray student who might enlighten him, but it was to no avail; as before the corridor was deserted. Hypnotising the statue, Harry bit his lip and scowled in thought. 

-” _ Montrose Magpies _ .” 

The statue didn’t move an inch. Harry wasn’t really surprised; after all, he didn’t expect McGonagall to keep the same password from last year.    

-” _ Quafffle. _ ” 

Nothing. 

_ -”Golden Snitch.” _

_ -”Nimbus.” _

_ -”Seeker.” _

_ -”Chaser.” _

_ -”Broom.” _

_ -”Bludger.” _

_ -”Keeper.” _

The gargoyle stood unmoved. 

Harry sighed and scratched his chin. Perhaps Quidditch wasn’t the right direction to take, after all. A shame. McGonagall certainly didn’t hide her fondness of the sport, and Harry was sure he remembered a time the password said “Quidditch Cup”. 

Harry paced in front of the statue, trying a multitude of possible passwords McGonagall may have picked. He realised it was probably easier to look for someone who knew the right answer, but Harry Potter was not one to back down from a challenge. He knew McGonagall. He  _ would _ figure it out. 

In the back of his mind, the same voice that frequently reminded him of all his shortcomings at the slightest provocation now rather unhelpfully supplied several more likely outcomes: a) Harry would pace in front of the Gargoyle forever, until he lost his mind in the self-inflicted trance and was taken to St. Mungo’s for good. b) nobody of the students or teachers knew the password aside from McGonagall, who would never leave her office because she tripped and broke both her legs, and was doomed unless Harry figured the correct password out.

In course of time, unsurprisingly Harry’s guesses were becoming increasingly random and improbable. 

McGonagall would never be freed.

_ -”Firewhiskey.”  _

_ -”Thistle.” _

_ -”Bagpipes.” _

_ -”Catnip.” _

_ -”Transfiguration.” _

_ -”Haggis. _ ”

_ -”Tartan.”  _

Harry wanted to scream.

 

-“ _ Audere est facere. _ ” A familiar voice announced from behind him. Harry turned around as the Gargoyle bowed his head solemnly, and stepped away to reveal the entrance to the stairway. He wasn’t even surprised to find the Professor herself standing a few strides behind him. Harry hoped she hadn’t been listening for too long. 

-”Catnip?” McGonagall looked like she was amused and sort of offended at the same time. In other words, the way she’s always looked ever since Harry could remember.

-”...I was desperate,” Harry cringed. ‘ _ To dare is to do.’ _ He probably should have anticipated something more sophisticated than Quidditch or vague references to McGonagall’s notorious scottishness. Then again, she  _ had  _ used the entire chorus of  _ Auld Lang Syne _ as a password before. Allegedly after losing a bet to Professor Flitwick, but Harry wouldn’t put it past McGonagall to having started the rumor herself for cover. 

The Headmistress only gestured Harry to follow her into the large circular office. Harry was bracing himself to deliver the bad news; McGonagall would not make it easy. She had been the Head of Gryffindor house for a reason, after all.

-”To what do I owe the pleasure, Mr. Potter?” She looked at Harry from behind her spectacles as she was sitting down at the massive wooden desk. She also looked in a manner that suggested she knew exactly what Harry was up to. 

-”I would-”

-”May I interest you in a cup of tea? Biscuits?” McGonagall interrupted him, and with an elegant wave of her wand she floated a silver tea-tray to the desk, milk and shortbread biscuits included. Harry didn’t even have time to answer before she rather forcefully shoved a teacup into his hand. 

-”Thank you, Professor.” Harry smiled, and took an obligatory sip from the cup. 

-”You’re welcome, Mr. Potter. You were saying?” Mcgonagall asked expectantly. It wasn’t like she had interrupted Harry in the first place. 

-”Ehrm, right,” Harry cleared his throat, “...I would like to thank you for your offer.”   

McGonagall’s face was impassive. -”But?”

-”But, I’m afraid I will have to decline. I am very flattered for having been considered, but I’m happy at my current position for now.” Even to Harry it sounded weak; far worse, it sounded like a lie. But it wasn’t, not really, at least that’s what Harry thought he thought. 

She studied Harry with keen eyes, and took a slow sip of tea herself before answering. Harry could suddenly hear every sound the room was producing in the background: the rhythmic ticking of a large clock from somewhere behind him, the Headmistress’ personal owl ruffling its feathers on a nearby bookshelf, the clink of the china cup against the tray as Mcgonagall set it down. 

-”I see.” McGonagall sounded disappointed. But not defeated. -”In that case, I may have yet another proposition. You see, there is no need for you to quit curse-breaking, as I understand it you are not directly employed at the Ministry?” 

Harry took a deep breath, and simply nodded. Of course McGonagall would have prepared for this. And she knew just how to play him. 

-”It is possible that you could teach only part-time. Since the class is meant to prepare seventh-years for their N.E.W.T.s in Defense Against the Dark Arts, there is no need for you to stay for more than two classes a week at most, perhaps for another hour every two weeks for consultations. You will not have to teach anything outside of their regular classes, but rather do practical exercises.” 

McGonagall reached into the drawer of her desk, and handed him a parchment scroll. Harry reluctantly accepted. 

-”I can’t of course force you, but if you were to consider the job after all, the staff and I are willing to assemble the next year’s schedule in a way that would make it unnecessary for you to come to Hogwarts on more than one, perhaps one and half day. Accommodation will be provided for nevertheless. The way I see it, you would still have enough time to keep breaking curses, if you wished.  You can find all the information in the scroll.” 

Harry was holding back a rather exasperated sigh. He took another sip of tea and tried again.

-”Professor, I travel a lot, there is no telling if-” 

-”Mr. Potter, I only ask you to think about it. There is still plenty of time until next year; should you reconsider, I am sure we will be able to make arrangements accordingly.” 

McGonagall now laced her fingers together, and gave Harry one of her very rare smiles. 

-”Have a biscuit, Mr. Potter.”

  
  


 

 

***

 

 

 

-”Why are you so determined against the job, though? I’m saying it from a biased position, but still,” Neville grinned, but he sounded genuinely interested. 

Harry ran into his friend almost right after leaving the lion’s den, barely managing to avoid a surrender to McGonagall’s argument on spot. Harry had spied Professor Longbottom on his merry way to afternoon class. He had his nose buried into a parchment, and was relentlessly trying to blow his sandy fringe out of his eyes while reading the notes. Over the years, Neville’s features have lost the softness around the edges, and already there were crinkles around his kind eyes. He’d grown a bit taller than Harry (like most of his friends, to Harry’s utter annoyance), but never got quite rid of the chubbiness in his gut or the paleness of his skin, despite spending the majority of his time outside. It did nothing to diminish his charm however; Neville soon became one of the students’ favourite professors. Confident in his Herbology knowledge and skill, but patient and gentle with even the least talented pupils - at least that was what Teddy repeatedly claimed, even though he wouldn’t be caught dead phrasing it that way. Teddy had the misfortune of “inheriting” Harry’s complete lack of competence in handling plants and had several cacti on his conscience already, but as far as Harry knew he liked Neville’s classes just the same. 

 

-”I’m not against the job, don’t get me wrong, I just…” Harry sighed. He thought about his answer, as he didn’t really want to get into detail of the issue. 

-”I’m still not done with curse breaking. Yes, it can be tedious, but at the end of the day I get to travel around and do exciting things too while actually helping people, unlike at Gringotts.” 

Neville seemed to contemplate this. -”Fair,” he nodded, “can’t say I share the appeal really, but let’s be honest, I’m not exactly the adventurous type - preventing kids from accidentally hurting themselves is plenty exciting for me, thank you very much.” Neville laughed good-naturedly, and Harry couldn’t help but join him. And stop Neville from falling on his face as he tripped over his robes. 

They were now walking outside towards the greenhouse complex, which was extended over three new buildings. Two of them housed tropical plants as well as magical creatures from the same climate, which were tended to by Hagrid, much to his delight. 

-”I’m afraid I’ll have to go now,” Neville said awkwardly and gestured to the group of students waiting not far from them. -”Are you staying for the game?”

-”Of course! In fact, I have a job nearby so I may even stay over the weekend, but I don’t know yet for sure.” Harry shrugged. He was accommodated in the Three Broomsticks at any rate, which was always much more preferable to sleeping in a tent. Harry hated tents.

-”Great. Owl me if you would, we can get a pint tomorrow.” Neville gave him one last awkward wave, and hurried to the greenhouse. 

Harry watched fondly how Neville ushered the students inside. He often tried to imagine himself in the role of a teacher, especially since McGonagall started bombarding him with her offer, and he always came up with the same conclusion: aside from still being invested in curse breaking, as mended as his relationship to Hogwarts became over the years, Harry was not yet ready to spend prolonged periods of time at the school. There were still too many ghosts and nightmarish memories he was not ready to deal with; ones that he now managed to repress for short visits, but certainly wasn’t eager to compute. Perhaps one day. 

Harry  _ was _ tempted, that much he admitted to himself. Hogwarts was his first real home and a sanctuary during his years living with the Dursleys, and it was there that he for the first time in his life made friends and family. They were precious memories, and Harry refused to give them up and be defeated by trauma over tragic events forever. The war was won, and life went on for everybody - it was time the Golden Boy got his shit together as well. And eventually Harry would, he was sure. Sometimes. Not now.

Harry yawned and looked at his wristwatch ( like his wallet, just as worn and also a remnant of his relationship with Ginny). He could still make it to tea at Hagrid’s before the Quidditch match. Harry smiled at the thought - Hagrid, biscuits the size of smaller plates, tea laced with firewhiskey and local gossip were a surefire recipe to cheer him up instantly after being mercilessly annihilated by McGonagall. 

Thankfully, some things never changed.

  
  


 

 

 

***

  
  


 

-”Can you believe it?! We beat them, and by 80 points at that! That means Hufflepuff will play against Gryffindor next!” Teddy almost knocked over their butterbeer in his excitement. He was practically bouncing in his chair, teenaged manners forgotten for the time being. Harry could not be happier for him. He didn’t even try to hide his smugness on Teddy’s behalf. Harry knew Teddy was a good Quidditch player, they played together countless times, but tonight he really outdid himself.

-”You were amazing out there, of course I can believe it.” Harry grinned, and carefully slid the glasses away from his godson’s wild gesturing. Teddy didn’t even notice, he was positively beaming with pride. 

As expected of the first game of the season, the stadium was packed. Harry barely managed to find a spot on the stands before Madam Hooch’s whistle announced the launch of the game. He hurriedly squeezed himself between annoyed-looking students, mindful of keeping out of their view. The Hufflepuff and Slytherin team have been relatively evenly matched in the past; last year Slytherin managed to snatch the title of Champion from Hufflepuff only by ten points. It irked Teddy to no end, enough that he persistently trained throughout the Summer regardless of the weather, persuading anyone who was even borderline willing to assist him in sending Bludgers (from the set Harry got for Teddy for Christmas) flying at him over and over again. Harry nearly had an aneurysm when Teddy first came home looking like he had an unfriendly encounter with a mountain troll. 

Judging by their recent success, his hard work certainly paid off - the Slytherin team was mercilessly battered by Bludgers propelled by Teddy’s flawless aim. He and his fellow Beater Mandy Macmillan provided enough distraction to allow their team to successfully score five times in a row. The Slytherin part of the audience was screaming bloody murder by then. Harry was pressing the binoculars so close to his own glasses he was sure he’d have them imprinted on his face forever, but even without them it wasn’t particularly difficult to follow Teddy. Thanks to his bright turquoise hair and outstanding performance, he easily stole the spotlight. Traditionally, the majority of the audience followed either  the Chasers with the Quaffle or tried to find the Snitch together with the Seeker, but Harry noticed that Teddy caught interest of more than a few viewers as well. 

The temporary chagrin following the chat with McGonagall cleared from his mind entirely, and the only thing Harry was able to focus on was an impossible surge of affection and pride that filled his heart to bursting. When the black and yellow seeker at last caught the Snitch, he was cheering at the top of his lungs and waving with the rest of the Hufflepuff students. 

Teddy received his plate of chips and was now enthusiastically stuffing his face. He insisted on having dinner with Harry at the Broomsticks rather than the Great Hall. When Harry asked why he’d prefer an inn’s menu over a Hogwarts feast, the only response he got was “ _ Fangirls _ ” and a lot of eye-rolling and shrugging. He was obviously trying to cover his befuddlement over the turn of that particular situation, so Harry let it slide and pretended to be convinced. He made effort not to grin at Teddy’s expense too much. 

-”How is being Prefect going for you, by the way?” Harry patiently waited until Teddy finished chewing, and washed the fries down with the beer. 

-”It’s not too bad, I guess. The nightly rounds are annoying, but I only have to go like, twice a week so it’s not horrible.” Teddy looked disinterested, but didn’t complain. In this case, Harry translated “not horrible” as his strange way of saying “it’s alright”. 

-”Why aren’t you going home by the way? Did you take the job after all?” Teddy asked. 

-”I’m afraid not.” Harry sighed. Teddy’s shoulders fell a bit, but he kept his impassive expression. -“I do have a job near Hogsmeade though, so I’m staying until it’s done. Do you want to get something in the village after class? I’m sure I could persuade Sprout to let you go with me.” Harry offered. 

Teddy shook his head. -”It’s alright, I don’t need anything. I think we’re going to Hogsmeade next Saturday anyway, so I’ll just go then. Thank you.” Teddy’s smile turned into a yawn. Harry took it as a cue to escort his godson back to the castle as soon as Teddy inhaled the rest of his dinner. It took him about ten seconds. 

-”Let’s get you back, or McGonagall will have my bollocks. You must be exhausted, and I don’t suppose your team will let you off the hook so easily for not staying to celebrate.” 

-”I’m fine! I’m always- “ Teddy’s protest was interrupted by yet another yawn, to his annoyance, “-tired after eating. All blood’s moved south from my brain.”  Harry amusedly raised his eyebrows.

-”To my stomach. Obviously.” Teddy huffed exasperatedly and rolled his eyes. Harry held up his hand in defense.

-”I never implied otherwise.” 

They gathered their things and made their way out of the inn in the cold October evening. They were walking mostly in silence, huddled in their scarves and coats but for an occasional observation from Harry, and a snarky comment from Teddy in return. Smalltalk and recent school scandals weren’t what Harry wanted to talk about with him really, but he didn’t know how to approach the subject without ruining the post-victorious good mood. He did not have much more time to contemplate as they were nearing the castle, though. He took a deep breath before asking, but Teddy beat him to it:

-”No.”

Harry sighed. -”Teddy,-”

-”I’m not a small child anymore, Harry. You don’t have to ask every month, I don’t need you to hold my hand every time. I’m helping the other kids now.” Teddy’s apparently been rehearsing his answer for the debate, and delivered it with perfect irritation. 

-”I know, but-”   

-”Then don’t.” Teddy turned to him with a perfect poker face, daring him to pursue the subject regardless. Harry didn’t.

-”Thanks for dinner. I’ll see you around.” Teddy didn’t even look at him when he left, and disappeared through the main door soon after. He was upset with Harry, that much was clear, but Harry could neither really understand why or help himself from inquiring. 

Harry realised that a time would come when his help became unwelcome, but it didn’t make it any easier to accept or to stop him from being worried. The curiousness of Teddy’s condition decidedly did not help his case in the least. 

Teddy was not a fully-fledged werewolf like his father, at least he’d never transformed during the full moon before. It was impossible to determine how far his affliction extended, because some of the symptoms revealed themselves over time or ceased to trouble him entirely. Officially, lycantrophy was not classified as a hereditary curse, but the case could be argued both ways still. Harry went through copious amounts of extracurricular research to find any relevant information that could help Teddy, or which could at least illuminate what they could expect from the passed-down curse. 

The results of his endeavor were unfortunately disheartening. Records of werewolf children were tragically sparse, and it appeared there was no obvious pattern in those that existed at all. In some of the children, the curse never really manifested beyond having a sensitivity to silver and perhaps a tendency to sleepwalking. Some had nightmares and hallucinations, or could become aggressive. In a few cases, the lycantrophy developed with age, in others it appeared early enough that the infant mostly did not survive the first transformation. Harry never stopped looking, but he feared his options were becoming exhausted. He’d gone as far as to travel to Eastern Europe, knowing the status of werewolves there wasn’t as dismal as in the United Kingdom, and met up with a handful of people descended from werewolves. Sadly, he did not learn much that he hadn’t known before. It did not however deter him from trying. 

The standing of werewolves was marginally better than to Remus’ time, but the topic was still a controversy in the modern wizarding society. Harry did collaborate on a lot of social programs that supported werewolves, and contributed to a lot of organisations fighting for werewolf rights. The Werewolf Registry’s rigid rules did relax, if not by much. However even little change was a cause for celebration in the community; especially when rules that protected the werewolves’ identity and welfare came to existence for the first time. 

Harry was an avid fighter for the cause. The general prejudice and condemnation were outdated, irrational and outrageous; especially in a time where potions suppressing the werewolves’ blind aggression were available, as well as hundreds of studies worldwide which proved that werewolves were perfectly capable of being a part of society, and were for the large part indistinguishable from other witches and wizards. Aside from believing it should be common sense not to treat werewolves like garbage, Harry felt he owed it to Teddy, Remus and all the children that fell victim to Greyback’s rampage in the war.  

To Harry’s knowledge, most of the parents of afflicted children opted to send them to Durmstrang, which was the only large european wizarding school that openly accepted werewolves into their student body. Hogwarts currently housed about five surviving werewolves plus Teddy, all carefully monitored by Madam Pomfrey and a few assistants, and all supplied with Wolfsbane Potion by Slughorn. A secret extension to the Hospital Wing served as their refuge during the full moon. To prevent misinformation from spreading and to protect the children, only a few of the Staff were in on the program, much like with Remus. Teddy was very much invested in helping the children out. 

At first it was nightmares and occasional muscle cramping during the full moon, and getting a rash whenever he touched silver objects. Everyone was praying that Teddy’s discomfort would not go past that extent, but he was not so lucky; gradually, the full moons became unbearable without sedative potions, and Teddy spent them in bed paralysed with pain. Still he would constantly downplay the severity of his seizures or the physical and mental extortion, never wanting to worry anyone or being the center of attention - Teddy had absolutely hated that, and always insisted it wasn’t so bad. After one particular episode though, when Harry found him running amok and demolishing his room for the first time, he’d put his foot down. Teddy had been taking Wolfsbane ever since, which improved his condition somewhat. Seeing as Wolfsbane was poisonous for humans it was a risk, but they tackled it with a Healer and antidotes at hand, and it paid off. For years, including all years he’d attended Hogwarts, Teddy’s been stable. And increasingly irritated over Harry’s nagging.  

After getting back to the Broomsticks, Harry had one solitary ale at Rosmerta’s bar, and decided to call it an early night. He was troubled by Teddy, but he had to admit there was nothing he could do but leave him alone, if that was what his godson wanted. 

At least, that was what Harry told himself while trying to fall asleep. 


	6. A Cursed Weekend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a disproportionally long chapter, sorry
> 
> but it's Harry at work! <3
> 
> /edit
> 
> now with fixed typos as well

_Friday, October 12th_

 

Harry was smiling. There were fingers playing with his hair, and a soft palm caressing his face. When his eyes slowly blinked open, there she was - as if she’d never left, Ginny was lying next to him, looking both mischievous and affectionate. The early morning light coloured her hair almost golden, she was still wearing it long almost to her waist. Harry did like her short hair a lot too, but he secretly missed the endless locks or red cascading over her shoulders. Stray strands were falling in her face as she leaned in, and kissed his forehead. She looked the same as he remembered from the happier stages of their relationship, after they’d moved out together. It was strange, and at the same time not strange at all, Harry found.

-”Ginny,” he whispered, but he was smiling too, “why are you here?”

Her eyes were the colour of honey. She was so beautiful.

She moved closer, draping herself over Harry. She kissed him again, this time on the mouth. Harry stroked her back, mentally mapping the freckles on her skin like he always did. He realised she was naked.

-”Don’t be silly.” Ginny rolled her eyes, but her exasperation very quickly changed into something Harry recognised instantly, and he immediately felt heat spreading in his body like fire.

-”I missed you.” The shy tone in her voice did not match her dangerous smirk at all. As she pushed down the covers and straddled his lap, Harry couldn’t say he much cared. He was half hard already, and when she teasingly ground against him, time could have ceased to exist for all he cared. Ginny was warm, breathing hard between their kisses. Her lips were delicious. She licked into his mouth and bit him, and Harry helplessly arched against her body, holding down a whimper. She held his hand and when she slid down on him with a lascivious moan on her kiss-swollen lips, Harry all but forgot his name.

He missed her too.

Harry wished he’d never have to leave this bed, this tiny room in the Broomsticks, and stay like this until the world stopped turning.

Ginny was riding him at a slow, but hard pace. Her mouth was hanging open in silent pleasure, and Harry was sitting up and leaning closer, supporting their weight with one arm as he kissed her breasts and neck. His other hand was holding Ginny’s, their fingers laced together. He stroked the back of her palm with his thumb, and closed his eyes as he brought her knuckles to his lips and kissed them. Ginny’s hands felt a little larger than he remembered them, but Harry thought he was imagining it. It had been so long.

He opened his eyes and kissed her hand again. He noticed the freckles were strangely gone, and indeed, the hand was broader, and the fingers longer, paler, elegant. Nails clean and trimmed, with an unobtrusive ring on the index finder.

Confused, Harry looked up and froze.

Looming above him was Draco Malfoy. He was flushed and hot, his expression an obscene mask of lust. Only his look remained stern, eyes grey like a rainy day and cold enough to make one shiver.

 

Harry woke up.

 

He startled enough that he nearly fell out of bed in a very cartoonish manner. His heart was racing, ready to jump out of his chest, and he was breathing hard. Disoriented, he looked to the side, only to find the bed blissfully empty. As expected.

_What the fuck._

Harry flopped back onto the bed with a distressed groan. Embarrassed he held the pillow to his face, trying to will away the now painful erection straining against his boxers, his body clearly unaware and intent on sabotaging any semblance of decency left in him. Harry hoped some invisible force would possess the pillow and suffocate him in his shame.

What the fuck indeed.

Aside from his own continuous groaning, the room was entirely quiet. It was early enough that the street outside of the inn’s window was deserted but for a few stray kneazles chasing food, but naturally Harry couldn’t hear them. Unlike in the dream, the sun did not rise yet. His watch was strategically put away on a dresser further away from the bed so he did not see what time it was, but Harry could already tell he would not be able to go to sleep anymore.

Raindrops began gently rapping against the window pane; the morning was already becoming a cold and wet affair. Harry rolled over to the side, stubbornly ignoring the anarchy in his underwear. He couldn’t stop seeing Malfoy’s pale pointy face or feeling his hand in Harry’s own, and it made him angry and frustrated. How dare the bastard sneak into his dream, and taint his memory of Ginny. Harry hasn’t been in love with her or interested in dating her for a long time now, but he felt like Ginny appearing in a wet dream of his could still arguably be expected and explained - they really were happy together a million years ago, and Ginny Weasley was without question a gorgeous woman. It’s been a while since he’s had dreams of this kind (or had real life activities of this kind, as a matter of fact), and he would very much like to know why the universe was so set on ruining the few he had by having his subconsciousness feature Malfoy of all people. Harry wanted to hate him. Only, it wasn’t really Malfoy’s fault that Harry’s treacherous mind produced this ludicrous scene. It wasn’t Malfoy’s fault either, that after the initial shock subsided, in the furthest, unadmitted corner of his mind Harry found himself shamefully intrigued about what would have followed had he not woken up.

Then again, maybe some questions were better left unanswered.

Harry groaned frustratedly.

 

Perhaps he really was going crazy.

Or perhaps he really, really needed a shag.

 

***

 

Once he was outside, breathing in the fresh air as he walked the narrow forest path towards a tiny, rural village, Harry could easily find a silver lining to waking up at ungodly hours. He was naturally an early riser so it really wasn’t such a controversy, but he still preferred to distract himself from the actual reason behind the slight, spontaneous change in plans.

He’d had plenty of time for a long warm shower, and a filling English breakfast at the inn. The coffee left a lot to be desired, but Harry figured it was as good as it could get in the area.  

Helgaskog was a wizarding settlement further north of Hogsmeade, barely big enough to deserve being called a village. Harry apparated not far from the large forest opening, but far enough still that he had to use a navigation spell to find the overgrown path. The forest protected the wizards from prying eyes as well as any muggle-repelling charm. It had stopped raining recently, and after only a short while Harry’s boots were mostly covered in mud. The smell of wood and moss though was soothing, and for the first time since the morning Harry’s mind was clear and untroubled. Slowly he made his way towards the would-be village, and soon he could see the first group of small wooden houses from between the trees and bushes.

The Helgaskog assignment was automatically delegated to Harry from Brecher’s pile of cases once the curse breaker was confirmed to have gone missing in action. Harry found it curious that this case even landed among Brecher’s assignments at all, since the older wizard normally worked with objects rather than cursed people - that was entirely Harry’s agenda. It appeared a young wizard filed the complaint to the Investigation office  already few weeks ago. The Investigation office, being responsible for most initial complaints and lawsuits, “immediately” redirected it to the curse breaker subdivision. According to Healer examination from St. Mungos, Mr. Guss Tohn age 24 had been recently afflicted by a transformative curse. The only way to cure him of his plight, as was custom with curses, was to find the origin and undo the spell - that’s where Harry came in. The case wasn’t marked as urgent, so Harry silently hoped the delay did not make a life-threatening difference, but one could hardly tell that to a cursed person.

-”Excuse me,” Harry approached an elderly wizard over the fence to his garden, “I’m looking for a Mr. Tohn? Do you know where I could find him?”

The old man squinted at Harry suspiciously.    

-”Who’s asking?” He called.

Clearly, the village did not get many visitors. Not that Harry was surprised.

-”Curse Breaker Potter.” Harry promptly produced a badge from the pocket of his coat. He faintly hoped that in revealing his name he wouldn’t set off the usual Savior Potter Sequence. He really wasn’t in the mood; Merlin knows he’d wasted more than enough time with such introductions.

This time however, he was apparently in luck. The man’s frown cleared, and he shuffled closer to meet Harry at the fence.

-”Yes yes, I remember now - we’ve been expecting you for weeks! Lad lives in the third house down the road, to the left. I reckon he should be home. Hardly leaves at all ever since, yanno.” He shrugged and pointed in the direction of the other wizard’s abode.

-”Thank you, sir. Can you tell me anything about Mr. Tohn? Did he get into any trouble recently?”

Harry assumed that in a village this small, where everyone knew everyone, it was hardly possible the old man didn’t at least hear rumors. After all, he implied it himself. The question was how much he would give away.

The man scowled. -”No, mister. I think it’s best you ask him yourself - let nobody say old man Pepper been a snitch,” he huffed.

Well.

-”I meant no offense, I apologise. It’s best I’ll be on my way then, thank you, sir.” Harry nodded politely, and turned in the direction the man had pointed. Fortunately, the “road” was neither long or densely populated - Harry easily spied the small cottage from where he stood.

As he walked towards it, he noticed movement behind the window curtains, and sure enough upon the first knock the door all but flew open.

-”Come in! Good lord, don’t just stand there, I’ve been holed inside for weeks!” The wizard exclaimed hastily, and Harry decided it was better not to test him. His face and head was covered with a large scarf. In fact, he was covered from head to toe, with his robes bunched up in strange places.

-”I’m here on behalf of your-”

-”Yes, yes damn it all! What took you so long?! Have you any idea how terrible-”

-”Listen,” Harry held up his hands in an attempt to shut him up. “I’m sorry, there was a hold up due to internal… matters.” Nice save. Robards would have been proud. “Anyway. Here I am. Agent Potter. Nice to meet you, Mr. Tohn.” Harry reached to shake the man’s hand.

Guss Tohn looked he still had a lot to say about “internal matters”, but resisted. Instead, with a poker face that could rival McGonagall, he held out his...hand. Claw. Hand. Fin? Thing. With a certain amount of fantasy it did resemble a human hand, that was for sure, only it was covered by sore-like, greyish blisters, with long claws instead of fingernails and webbing between short, stubby fingers. Harry also noticed the wizard lacked an opposing thumb.

-”Sh- Oh.” Harry was a professional. That didn’t mean he was a diplomat, too.

Thankfully, Tohn did not insist on the handshake, and just started uncovering his face. Much like his hand, his skin was densely covered with the sores. His face was dominated by a beak-like mouth that obscured two rows of tiny, but pointy teeth. From behind the shrivelled ears grew a pair of ram’s horns.

Harry immediately concluded Mr. Guss Tohn would not be among the nominated for Witch Weekly’s annual Top 10 _Enchanting Prince Charming_ wizard contest.

He sighed.

He would have to go to Investigation again to explain which cases to categorise as non-urgent: spontaneously talking gibberish, randomly bursting into song and dance, or having the nose grow upon telling lies, familiarly known as the “Pinocchio.” Certainly not this.

-”Alright. How and when did this happen. And please,” Harry emphasized, giving the unfortunate wizard a stern look,  “it is crucial that you tell me everything.”

-”It’s all that bitch’s fault,” Tohn raged. “Her grandmother is a hag, and she set her upon me! I didn’t do anything!”

It took Harry an immense amount of energy to suppress the urge roll his eyes. He’s encountered countless lovers’ quarrel curses, but not a one that was caused by either of the pair having done nothing (in fact, he did, but that was an isolated event of temporary madness caused by consumption of foul dragon eggs. He was hoping it would stay that way.) If this indeed had been a lovers’ quarrel at all.

-”Care to explain who it is that you are referring to? Sir?” He patiently waited until Tohn collected himself. The creature-wizard meanwhile covered his hideous visage with the scarf. Harry hoped he would provide enough information that Harry would not to have examine him too close. He’d still have to write down the protocol, but he would much rather do it without having to take samples.

-”It’s Ava Pettersen,” Tohn mumbled, “...Ava and I had a minor misunderstanding, you see.” Without further comment, Tohn sat down at the nearest chair in the small kitchen. Harry went ahead and followed his example without invitation; if Tohn insisted on being this curt, Harry might as well sit down.

Dirty dishes were piling up in the sink, and Harry noticed there was half a skinned rabbit on the counter that had seen better times maybe five years ago. Instead of being cut up, it had a large bite mark in the middle that left all the gore unobscured. Harry wrinkled his nose. Whatever this wizard transformed into, it definitely wasn’t very tidy, or a herbivore.  

Harry wasn’t one to pay attention to the state of cleanliness at others’ homes, but he’d first have to remove his eyeballs in order not to notice this mess. Opposing thumbs or not, Tohn was still a wizard capable of wielding a wand, although at this point Harry wondered if the hovel wouldn’t crumble entirely after being faced with a few well-aimed Scouring Charms.  

-”Of what nature was this… misunderstanding?” Harry took out a parchment and his self-inking quill, and marked down the date and the affected wizard’s name.

-”I was courting her. I don’t understand why she refused, none of the girls from the village ever have,” Tohn face was hidden, but Harry could tell that despite everything, there was a smugness to his statement. People were truly amazing creatures; even in time of distress, they would find a way to boast.

-”Perhaps that was the reason,” Harry offered silently as he noted down Tohn’s story.

-”What?”

-”Ehrm, nothing, please continue.”

-”She refused me. I tried to convince her one last time, but she instead set her hag of a grandmother on me! I woke up looking like this.” Tohn frustratedly gestured all over himself.

-”Right. Do you remember what means you used to convince her?” Harry raised his eyebrows in askance. “Are you saying the change happened overnight, or was it more gradual?”

Some transformative curses had triggers that furthered the change, and developed like a sickness. It perhaps did not make much difference to the affected person, but the treatment was vastly different.

-”I did not say nothing to deserve this!” Tohn looked like he was about to slam his fist against the table in his outrage.

Harry thought there weren’t many actions that would warrant and justify a curse in response, but on occasion it was hard not to be sympathetic with some of the perpetrators.

-”It happened all in the course of a day I guess,” Tohn lamented. “You must help me bring the bitch to justice, Agent! This won’t stand!”

-”Mr. Tohn, I will do everything to help you in accordance with standard procedure. Where do I find Ms. Pettersen? Does she live in Helgaskog as well?”

-”Yes. She now lives in the last house, near where the forest path begins in the north. Can you not rid me of this yourself?! What will I do if the stupid floozy won’t undo the curse? I cannot live like this! The healers were totally useless!”

-”Mr. Tohn, let me worry about that.” Harry jotted down the last of his notes. ”I will return shortly, as soon as I’ve met with Ms. Pettersen. Have a good one, I’ll be seeing you.”

With this Harry promptly excused himself before Tohn could have started his rant anew. Harry realised he probably should not judge the fellow, having been stuck in such a state must have ground on his nerves considerably after all, but the way he communicated and described the events rubbed Harry the wrong way entirely. Regardless, it was his job to see Ava Pettersen and draw conclusions in an appropriate manner. In his line of work, Harry soon learned that everyone deserved the benefit of doubt, even vile characters such as Guss Tohn.

Ava’s house, too, stood near the main road - which really was a generous name for a dirt trail, but Harry would not dwell on it - only a little bit secluded from the group of cottages. Nearby was a small pen with a few goats wandering around it, oblivious to any visitor or cursed wizards in the little village. There were cranesbills in every window, and Harry even spied a fat orange kneazle sleeping on the roof. Harry knocked on the green-painted door, and waited. He assumed by this time word got around, and Ava perhaps even expected him.

The door slowly opened, but just enough that it revealed a young witch, who gave Harry an anxious once-over. She was dark, with thick curly hair pulled up into a messy bun and long eyelashes. Her eyes were green like a cat’s. Harry took out his badge. He didn’t want to scare the lady, quite the contrary, but he did have to introduce himself officially.   

-”Hello. I’m Curse Breaker Potter, and I’m looking for a Miss Ava Pettersen. Is that you?” He produced his friendliest smile, and hoped for the best. The witch shook her head.

-”No. What do you want of Ava? She has done nothing wrong. It’s Guss who is a crook!” Her voice was deep, and it had a smoky quality to it which Harry always found irresistible. But business was business, and this particular business really needed attending to.

-”It’s alright, I’m only here to talk, I promise. Who may you be, Miss...?”

The witch only frowned, clearly distrustful of Harry’s promises. He couldn’t really blame her; as good as his intentions were, she had no way of knowing. Before she could respond however, a voice from inside house interrupted:

-”It’s alright Roxanne, let him in.” Harry could hear the owner of the voice nearing the door where the witch stood.

-”Ava, you don’t know-” Roxanne started worriedly, but couldn’t finish the thought before the door was opened.

-”I am Ava Pettersen, Agent. Come in, please.” She smiled at Harry, and stepped away from the door to let him through. Ava immediately reminded Harry of Luna, although when he looked closer, the resemblance wasn’t as obvious. She had long hair the colour of straw, and black eyes. She was tall, but unlike Luna she held herself with poise, one not often seen outside of noble circles. Harry found this most intriguing, but he guessed she had probably moved to the village at some point, rather than being born and raised there. Now that he got a better look, Ava’s demeanor was much closer to Fleur, or perhaps even Narcissa than Luna; the only thing he found the witch shared with his friend was the amicable smile.        

-”I’m assuming this is about Guss? May I offer you some tea?” Ava led him to a small, but cozy living room and gestured him to sit. There was a magical fire going in the hearth, and over it a sized cauldron. Ava or Roxanne were apparently brewing something, but Harry could not tell from the smell what it was.

-”Yes, I’m here on Mr. Tohn’s behalf. No, thanks,” Harry refused the tea. One could never be too careful with possible suspects. He didn’t survive Voldemort to be poisoned and cleaved in half in a hamlet in the middle of nowhere. It surely wouldn’t be the first time anyone attempted, either.

Ava sat down on an armchair across from him. Roxanne was still occupying the doorway to the living room, her face disapproving and worried. Not a good sign.

-”Ms. Pettersen-”

-”Call me Ava, please.” Ava smiled at Harry. As opposed to Roxanne, she did not seem worried in the least. Harry didn’t know what to think.

-”Ava.” Harry smiled back, but his tone was serious when he continued: “Mr. Tohn is accusing you of having cast a curse on him. That your grandmother has cast a curse on him on your account, in fact. I hear there previously was a misunderstanding between you and Mr. Tohn. Do you have anything to say for yourself?” As he was talking, he took out his notes and readied himself to take Ava’s statement.  Meanwhile, she and Roxanne shared a brief look.

-”A misunderstanding?” Roxanne asked disbelievingly. “That bastard kept stalking Ava, forcing himself on her and even thre-”

-”That’s enough, please.” Ava took a deep breath. Harry waited.

-”Mr. Tohn repeatedly did not accept ‘no’ for an answer, and yes he did threaten me. However,” she looked pointedly at Harry, “I did not curse Mr. Tohn, and I did not pursue the matter with anyone else either.” Her smile faltered and the witch looked tired and weighed down by the whole situation. The shift in her mood was so sudden that it looked as if she had been polyjuiced all along, and the potion’s effect wore off in the moment.

Harry recorded her comment word for word, taking his time to consider what to say next. If what Ava was saying was indeed true, Guss Tohn did not get any less than he deserved, but unfortunately there was no way of telling unless he applied veritaserum, which he obviously could not. Harry had to take all options into account, one of which inevitably was the possibility of Ava lying.

What he could do was try to find the source of the curse and undo it, and if both sides were agreeable the whole issue could be closed off with a fine adequate to the severity of the curse. Harry vastly preferred this solution to dragging the Investigation department into the affair, which usually meant a lawsuit would be filed, and the whole process would stretch over several weeks.

Guss Tohn did not look like an agreeable sort of guy, which would put Ava into an unenviable situation. But, if Harry could prove he did threaten Ms. Pettersen, Tohn could probably be convinced to reconsider his stance. If Ava indeed was the one behind the curse.    

-”Alright. Ava, it is in the best interest of everyone involved that the curse is undone as swiftly as possible. Should you have any information that could help further, or remember anything, please let me know. I assure you Mr. Tohn’s behavior _will_ be taken into consideration.” Harry gave her an encouraging smile. “The same goes for Miss…?” He looked in Roxanne’s direction.

-”Rajavi. Pleased to meet you.” The witch finally came closer, and Harry stood up to shake her hand.

-”Likewise. Ms. Pettersen, Ms. Rajavi, do you know about anyone who could have cursed Mr. Tohn, or anyone who would hold grudge against him?”

-”Only half the village,” Roxanne snorted bemusedly, and sat down next to Ava.. -”See, Guss imagines he’s the local Don Juan.”

Harry tried to hold a straight face. 

-”What’s the success rate?”

Roxanne grinned. Harry thought he probably earned some approval points. Nice.

-”Guss is a reasonably good looking guy,” Ava suggested, which only prompted Roxanne to roll her eyes so hard Harry feared they would get stuck that way.

-”He’s also about as smart as a log. I would not be surprised if he laced the girls’ drinks with amortentia,” Roxanne added.

-”That’s a serious accusation,” Harry observed, but didn’t offer further commentary. Not that he would be any surprised either, all things considered.

-”You don’t know about that, Rox,” Ava objected. Roxanne just shrugged.

-”Then I guess he must have a really big-”

-”Roxanne!” Ava scolded her, but it appeared it was more for Harry’s sake as she gave him an apologetic look. Harry could not help himself from grinning.

-”...I heard rumors that size is not all there is to it.” he offered amusedly. Ava seemed relieved, at least. Roxanne only looked smug.

Harry really hoped they had nothing to do with what happened to Tohn.

-”I will have to ask around, then. I hope not half the village.” Harry sighed, and started getting up. “Ava, I would still like to visit with your grandmother. Does she live nearby?”

Immediately, Harry noticed Ava tense up.

-”Is that really necessary? She is very old and hard of hearing, and she doesn’t like strangers.”

-”I’m afraid so. I promise I won’t bother her for any more than I can help.” Harry said. Ava was behaving suspiciously, and he hoped for her sake it was only out of concern for the old witch.

Ava sighed.

-”Her hut is deeper in the forest, up north. It’s perhaps a ten minute hike from here, the way is not difficult. I can send my patronus along with you to show you the way.”

-”That would be nice, thank you. I will stop by as soon as I’ve learned anything new.”

 

Harry bid the two witches goodbye, and set off north on the forest path. Above him a silver swallow was flying, guiding him towards the witch’s hut. The day was nearing noon, and Harry’s stomach growled pitifully. He stopped and took a swig of the water bottle he had stowed away in his coat pockets. He promised himself to apparate back to Hogsmeade as soon as he interviewed Ava’s grandmother to get lunch before seeing anyone else.

Even decades after being subjected to the very alternative upbringing by the Dursleys, to put it mild, he still absolutely detested going hungry. After the war, for a while Harry found a strange comfort in food and used to “eat” his traumatic episodes too; unavoidably this resulted in him putting on nearly twice the amount of his former weight. Granted, having been scrawny before it still wasn’t unbearably much, but it wasn’t all that flattering either, and the attention brought on by the tabloids concerning Harry’s body image decidedly did not help his case. Eventually he got in shape again during therapy, and the curse breaker training too. He even kept some of the weight in muscle, and while he never spent much time on his looks (as Seamus and Dean never failed to remind him), it had been admittedly a nice feeling to stand next to Ginny and not feel inadequate or be painfully aware that she could snap him in half like a twig.

Then again, Ginny _did_ consistently beat everyone in arm wrestling, including all of her brothers, father, _and_ Charlie’s boyfriend. Harry did not know how so much force could be compressed in such a relatively small frame, but he sure as hell wouldn’t test it. Ginny didn’t become one of the top players in the Quidditch league for nothing, after all. She could probably decapitate a man if she threw the Quaffle at him hard enough.

Just like promised, the way was not difficult despite being uphill for the large part. Harry followed the swallow at a leisure pace. He had a vague feeling of being watched. It didn’t make him feel particularly concerned; aside from having witnessed the literal rebirth of Lord Voldemort, after years of de-ghosting haunted mansions, crypts, and even sewers on occasion, hardly anything gave Harry the creeps anymore. Dementors were a steady example, though. And the wizard knock-off of Furbies Harry forgot the name of. How a terrifying semi-mechanical, semi-magical hamster-owl monstrosity became a hit in a world where one could purchase a cute pygmy puff with ease, Harry had no idea. The muggle variant was a must-have toy when Rose was little, so she got it from her grandparents to fit in with other toddlers in muggle kindergarten. She loved it. Harry refused to visit Ron and Hermione’s house for weeks.

Harry stayed cautious on the way, aware of every out of place rustle in the bushes. He had his wand ready in the holster on his thigh. The forest was more dense north of the clearing, and the midday sun barely reached through the crowns of the tallest trees. It was noticeably colder too, and soon Harry wound his scarf tighter around him. The swallow above him glowed like a phantom.

It did not take long until at last Harry arrived at a tiny wooden hut tucked away between the trees, with its roof covered in grass and moss. The pathway to the door was paved with irregular stones, some of which were sprouting houseleek flowers. There was a steady stream of white smoke coming out of the chimney. The swallow vanished in thin air.     

Harry came closer to the door, careful not to crush the flowers in the pavement. He knocked, but there was no answer.

-”Hello? Excuse me?” He called, and knocked again. He remembered Ava saying the old witch was hard of hearing.

This time, he could hear shuffling from behind the door.

-”Yes? What do you want?” A voice croaked from inside.

-”My name is Harry Potter, curse breaker. I’m here on behalf of Mr. Guss Tohn. He’d been cursed recent-”

The door opened to a narrow crack, through which one large, milky eye peeked at him.

-”Harry Potter, you say?”

There we go again.

-”Yes. I’m here to only ask a few questions concerning Mr. Tohn. Can I come in?” Harry asked. It felt strange to raise his voice on an old lady, even more so surrounded by the quiet of a forest, but he thought _Sonorus_ would be a bit too much.

The witch was obviously scrutinizing him through the crack.

-”I was here, you know. When their army came through the forest. Hid away in my hut, under moss and leaves.” Her voice was both raspy and high, like chalk against a blackboard. The eye was scanning him frantically, much like Moody’s glass eye years ago. Harry still did not know how to respond to such observations.

-”Ehrm. I’m glad you stayed safe. Do you know Mr. Tohn, Madam?”

The eye frowned.

-”I can’t help you, I’m busy. Go away, Harry Potter.” The witch shut the door in his face.

-”Madam!” Harry called, knocking on the wood again. The door was shut, magically so.

Harry sighed in frustration. This was not good. Of course, it could all be a coincidence, and the witch was really just a moody old woman, but Harry had a growing feeling in his gut he would not need to interrogate half the village in the end.

He would try to come back after lunch, and see if he could change her mind. If she still refused to let him in, he would have to find and talk to a few other witnesses. If his suspicions were confirmed even further, he’d have to resort to going back to London and getting a search warrant. Harry _really_ wanted to avoid that, seen as along with a warrant he’d also receive an Investigator. Obstruction of justice was out of his jurisdiction. Also, by the time they’d have gotten through all the formalities, Guss Tohn would most likely be already comfortable in his new form.

Before apparating to Hogsmeade, Harry decided he would have a look around the witch’s hut, and the nearby forest. Out of the pocket of his coat, enhanced by Hermione’s popular extension charm, he dug out his invisibility cloak. He retreated from the hut in the direction he came in, just in case the old witch was watching him, and out of sight he draped the cloak over himself. Best not to upset the witch by obviously snooping around.

He cast a _Silencio_ at himself, preventing the sound of his footsteps to give him away, and headed around the back of the hut. It turned out the woman kept a large herb garden behind her home, but Harry did not detect any unusual plants he’d know of. His stomach made alarming sounds at this point, but he kept looking.

Finally, a few paces from the garden near a rotting tree trunk, Harry found what he thought could be his first lead. He hoped not.

A sizeable faery ring stretched next to the fallen tree. On a rock nearby were placed flowers and what seemed to be nuts and dried fruit in a bowl. Harry immediately cast a protective sigil. Unlike the vain, insect-like fairies that often served as lighting for parties, the fae folk were mysterious entities, eluding most wizard attempts at studying or understanding them. As far as Harry knew, it was possible to communicate with the fae, but also extremely dangerous. They rarely appeared at all anymore, and only few wizards still truly believed in their existence; however, believers or not, generally it was agreed upon it was good sense not to fuck with the fae folk.  

An offering to the fae did not inherently mean that the old witch consulted with them, it could merely mean an indulgence of superstitious belief so that the folk would leave the witch in peace. Considering she lived not far from it, it was a smart move in Harry’s opinion.

The alternative was less encouraging. If the curse indeed came from faeries, it would be extremely troublesome to get rid of it, and it could put not only Ava’s grandmother, but also the whole Helgaskog village in danger. Harry did not even want to imagine it.

He decided to leave the faery ring alone, and look for other clues in the opposite direction. There was a good chance that if the witch believed in faeries, and if it had been her who cast the curse, she would have used some old fashioned method to do it.

Old curses, Harry knew, usually involved the help of an object, a so-called anchor. Mediaeval witches first invented this move to impress muggles seeking their services. It was much more effective to produce some sort of ominous prop to perpetuate the spell, especially if the spells could be easily cast from the comfort of the witches’ homes. Muggles, for some reason, were much more inclined to believe in magic if there was at least a piece of driftwood “supporting” it.

Eventually though, the witches did develop a method where they sealed the curse into objects for longevity. Supposedly even after the witch had died, the spell could still stay active if it was strong enough, but apparently that was a rare occurrence even then. More likely, it looked pretty wicked and the witch could forget about it entirely, since she did not have to maintain it at all.

Mediaeval times were wild, Harry thought.

He stumbled through moss and grass, checking out the trees as far as he could see and reach, even sending a few scanning spells. He got lucky the third time he swept the area with a far-reaching tracing spell. It took him perhaps ten more minutes to get to the indicated place, but as soon as he was going in the right direction, he could spot the thing from afar.  

Impaled on a long, wooden pole that was stuck securely in the earth, there was a decomposing deer’s head. The remainder of the deer’s skin was hanging limply over the wood. Harry grimaced.

He couldn’t say it wasn’t a relief that the fae weren’t involved as far as the curse was concerned, but there was only so much improvement to a situation when the improving element was a Nithing pole.

Harry took off the invisibility cloak, and stuffed it back in his pocket. He neared the pole, but took care to examine it first from a safe distance. A basic repellent charm against animals was immediately detectable, but he couldn’t imagine any creature would willingly approach the macabre monument even without it. The air around it was heavy with energy and malicious intent. It was making Harry’s hair stand on end. He cast a few experimental spells to cleanse the area, and a spell-repelling charm on his gloves. They were made of dragon skin, so it wasn’t likely that the curse could penetrate them and harm him, but one could never be too cautious.

He came closer to the pole, and carefully moved the deer skin to the side, wary not to accidentally remove it. That could have quite lasting, even fatal effects on both him and Tohn. As expected, there were magical runes carved into the wood. Good news was that upon closer inspection, Harry could conclude that the curse didn’t appear to be irreversible.

Bad news was, only the old witch was able to do that safely.  

Harry sighed, and stepped away from the deer head.

-”What a piece of work.” He muttered to himself. He copied the runes on a parchment, and took a few pictures for evidence with the tiny camera he always carried on him. Guss Tohn must have pissed the witch off in a really spectacular manner.

He needed to talk to Ava as soon as possible.

 

At least Harry was not really hungry anymore.

 

Harry hurried down the forest path. He was now sure something or someone had been following him, but they haven’t attacked or showed themselves for most of his way, so Harry decided against apparating after all. He didn’t want to waste energy apparating such a short distance - should Ava’s grandmother refuse to undo the spell, he would need as much magic as he could get.

He immediately came up to Ava and Roxanne’s house, and gave the green door three impatient knocks. This time, it was Ava who answered. She was pale as a ghost.

-”Can I come in?” Harry asked.  

-”Yes, yes of course,” Ava startled, as if woken up from a haze, and let him in.

-”Ava, this is serious. Your grandmother wouldn’t see me, but deeper in the forest behind her house, facing the village, I found-”

-”The _Níðstang._ ” Her voice was quiet, and she sounded shaken.

Harry frowned.

-”So you knew of this? Did you ask your grandmother to do it?”

-”No!” Ava cried, and covered her face with her hands. “I would never have asked such a thing!”

-”Then how did you know what it was I found in the forest?” Harry was calm, but firm.

-”I told her!” Roxanne came in from inside the kitchen, and held Ava around her shoulders. “I did this.”

-”You set up the Nithing pole?” Harry asked.

-”No!”

Harry slid his glasses on the top of his head, and pinched the bridge of his nose. He was trying to remember that he liked his job.

-”Let’s sit down. Ava, your grandmother could get into a lot of trouble for this. I promise if you cooperate I will do everything to prevent that from happening.” Harry said. He did not know how exactly he intended to do that, but he was confident he would find a way.

-”Yes, yes alright,” Ava sobbed, and let herself be led by Roxanne into the living room. When they all sat down, she took a deep breath, and tried to calm down. “I swear I did not know of this, but if anything should happen to grandma, please let me take full responsibility.”

-”Absolutely not,” Roxanne protested. “This is all my fault,” she turned to Harry. “We’ve moved here perhaps two months ago, to take care of Ava’s grandma. Ava is a herbalist like her, and she’s the only family left.” Ava was silent. As was Harry. Roxanne took it as a cue to continue:

-”From the first day he saw her, Guss started to seek out Ava, trying to woo her. He was trying very hard, and every time she dismissed him he only grew more intent. It was extremely annoying, but relatively harmless, so we ignored him and hoped he would give up eventually.” Roxanne took Ava’s hand.

-”When Guss realised we were a couple,” Roxanne gave Ava’s hand a gentle squeeze, “he took it as a challenge. To do what I don’t know, “cure” her I suppose, but he grew increasingly aggressive, even violent, especially when I was out of town for work.” They both sighed. Ava took over the talking.

-”I was home alone about three weeks ago. It was night, but I was tending to the plants outside - some of them require moonlight to fully bloom - when Guss came to see me. I think he was drunk, too. He tried to force himself on me, and attempted to use _Imperius_ , but lucky for me he missed. I had to stun him to get away, though. It was horrible.” Ava finished and closed her eyes. Roxanne was stroking the back of her hand with her thumb.

-”When I found out, I was livid.” Roxanne looked at Harry. Her eyes were burning with rage even now. Harry couldn’t really blame her.

-”I went to see Ava’s grandma and told her everything. Naturally, she was furious. I got the deer and stole Guss’ scarf to have something of his for the ritual, and she set up the pole the same night. We did it behind Ava’s back. I just told her when I saw you find it in the woods.” Roxanne averted her eyes ashamedly.  

Harry’s blood was boiling on their behalf, but he had to stay professional. From the moment he walked through the door to their home it was obvious to him the ladies were involved, so the confession did not really come as a surprise. He did suspect Tohn had been harassing Ava, which was vile in itself, but the reasoning really took the cake too.

Unfortunately, as much as he deserved it, cursing Tohn was still very much illegal. Especially with a Nithing pole.

-”I’m sorry Ava, for what it’s worth. I promise I will do everything I can not to let him harm either of you, or your grandmother.” Harry leaned back on the sofa, and looked at the ceiling in contemplation. He very much wanted to bring Tohn to justice, but it was a hard nut to crack. He was legally bound to inform Tohn of the severity of his curse, in case he intended to press charges. Harry would do all to prevent that from happening.

-”Do you perhaps know anyone uninterested who could confirm Tohn was harassing you, or even testify against him?”

Roxanne and Ava exchanged a look.

-”Yes, I think? Guss wasn’t being especially subtle,” Ava laughed helplessly, but her smile weakened. Roxanne looked ready to get up and go murder Tohn. “I don’t know if anyone saw what he tried to do that night, though. We live a bit further away from the others you see-”

-”Don’t worry about that.” Harry sighed. “I need you to convince your grandmother to undo the curse, though. I will assist her, of course, but she needs to be the one to remove the pole.”       

-”I think we can arrange that. It will take some persuading, she is stubborn, but she wouldn’t do anything to hurt me.” Ava nodded.

-”Good. Do you think we could see her now?” Harry asked.

-”Yes. Wait for me outside, I only need to get my cloak.”

Roxanne escorted him silently. Harry thought she’d go back inside, but it appeared instead she was joining their little mission.

-”Excuse me,” he started hesitantly, “don’t get this the wrong way, but… you hunted down, decapitated and skinned a deer? I mean...” he shuffled on his feet awkwardly, “...that’s…tough.”    

Roxanne watched him amusedly. All 5’2” of her including the messy bun.

-”Allow me.” She smiled, and stepped away from Harry. Alarmed, Harry touched the holster on his thigh, but Roxanne did not mean to demonstrate her particular technique on him.

Instead, she turned into a large, about 250 lb tiger on spot, and blinked lazily at Harry.

-”...oh.”

 

Harry stood back as Ava and Roxanne tried to get the old witch to open the door.

-”Grandma please,” Ava pleaded and knocked.

-”I know he’s here! I know what you want, and you can forget it!” The grandmother croaked from inside.

-”Grandma, the Agent will have to undo it with or without your help. Please.”

For a moment, it was silent. Until grandma burst into laughter.

-”He can try!”

-”Grandma, I _will_ have to go to Azkaban if you don’t undo it,” Roxanne yelled. Harry wondered if she was bluffing, or if she knew that could actually happen, if favours were extremely bad in court.

Unexpectedly, the door opened. Harry thought the witch must have been old a hundred years ago already. She was short, shrivelled up like a prune, with huge eyes.

-”That deviant should go to Azkaban, not you!” she huffed. Harry couldn’t say he disagreed.

-”Why do you want to help that baboon?!”

-”I’m telling you, grandma. If we undo it out of free will, he will not press charges. You don’t want aurors to take us away from you, do you?” Ava explained exasperatedly. The old witch seemed to mull this over. Harry wagered that to her time, a well-aimed curse or a good ol’ quartering were perfectly justifiable means of retribution.

-”...very well.” The old witch desisted at last, though she made it very clear she still did not agree. She glared at Harry especially. Maybe he should go say goodbye to Teddy later, just in case.      

 

Harry, Roxanne and Ava watched the old witch disassemble the grim contraption with closed eyes and gentle waves of her staff, all while chanting something in a language Harry did not understand. Frankly, the ritual was quite fascinating. The pole and the head were lowered onto a pile of leaves and herbs they plucked in the garden behind the hut. She was still saying the incantation as she produced a large, ornate hunting knife from god knows where. Harry felt himself shiver. Old magic, Blood magic was gruesome and illegal. But admittedly also kind of badass.

Over the pile, with her other hand the witch grabbed the knife by the blade, and smoothly slid it through her closed fist. Droplets of blood fell upon the rotting head. She stopped the chant and opened her eyes.

-”I release you,” she said, and pointed her staff.

-” _Incendio._ ”

The leaves and the dead deer immediately went up in flames.

 

***

 

_Saturday, October 13th_

 

-”How did you convince the guy not to file a lawsuit?”

Teddy asked between munching All-Flavour Beans by the handful. If that wasn’t proof enough that Teddy’s tastebuds were long gone, Harry did not know what was. They were sitting by the lake, watching the Giant Squid try to catch unassuming gulls flying over it.

Harry smiled, and shrugged. He was the only one who could give an official statement about the curse, which made the persuasion marginally easier. Officially, the curse had been cast in passion by a very old witch dependent on the care of her granddaughter, coincidentally the same person Tohn repeatedly harassed and attempted to violate.

-”I told him if he did, I would have to kick his ass.”

Teddy rolled his eyes.

-”Riiight.”

 

After the witch performed the ritual that cancelled the spell, Harry paid Mr. Tohn a visit to inform him the problem should be solved, and at the same time to check if the dispelling was successful. Tohn was back to normal, thank Merlin, but he wasn’t so inclined not to sue the old lady as Harry hoped.

-”Are you really sure that is necessary?” Harry asked. He didn’t feel like sitting down on any of the greasy furniture, so he was still standing in the doorway, filling out forms that still needed signing, while Tohn was having a fit.

-”Are you serious?! That hag will pay, and that bitch has it coming, too.” He barked at Harry.

-”I can’t stop you of course, but I would not pursue it if I were you,” Harry shrugged. Tohn gave him an irritated, confused look in return.

-”What in Slytherin’s name are you on about? Why shouldn’t I?”

-”Well,” Harry scratched his chin, “in my experience, confused old ladies rarely get prosecuted for real, even if very passionate. Especially if this one revoked the curse willingly on her own.” He said matter-of-factly, still occupied by the form. “Sexual offenders  and an attempt at an Unforgivable, however...that’s a different story altogether. I don’t know about you, but a relatively futile lawsuit against a grandma in exchange for an assured criminal record on your part, that doesn’t seem much worth it.” Harry observed.

Tohn froze like a deer in headlights.

-”What the fuck are you talking about?”  

-”Well I’m sure that Ms. Pettersen will retaliate, after what you’ve been doing to her. That was what incited her grandma to act in the first place, was it not?”

-”I did not do anything!” Tohn yelled, looking like he was about three seconds from combusting.

-”The Pettersens and Ms. Rajavi do not agree, it would seem. And neither do I, or her other witnesses actually.”

-”What witnesses?! And what the fuck is it to you,” Tohn spat. “You don’t live here, you don’t know anything about us. Go back to London, Golden Boy.” he sneered.

-”You’re right, Mr. Tohn. I don’t live here. However, as an impartial person, and based on dealing with you,” Harry gently blew on the ink on the form to help it dry, “I can confirm that you are an aggressive, volatile individual. I also happen to personally know the best lawyer available in the United Kingdom, and I’m sure they would agree to support Ms. Pettersen’s cause should I refer her.” It appeared he managed to render Tohn utterly speechless. Harry couldn't say they maintained any strong friendship, but over the years Cho Chang and him were perfectly able to hold a pleasant conversation whenever they happened to meet, and they genuinely enjoyed each other's company.

-“You wouldn’t…” Tohn was clearly intimidated, judging by the fact that he was as white and stiff as a piece of chalk.   

-”I don’t see why not. Unless you are willing to settle the matter with a fine, I think I could reconsider then.” Harry said with a cheerful smile. He offered Tohn the form and the quill.

 

After having listened to Harry’s argument, Mr. Guss Tohn had a sudden change of heart and let himself be swayed to agree to a less invasive solution. Harry thanked him, and concluded the case with a 25 Galleon fine. Some clerk would send the notification from London after the paperwork was done with. He wished Mr. Tohn a nice day, and before apparating the hell out of there to catch up with his famished stomach, he also reminded Tohn that if he even looked at Ms. Pettersen or Ms. Rajavi in any way that could be interpreted as threatening, The Saviour would personally take care of informing the Investigation Department of his misdeeds, and stand to the old woman’s defense.  

 

***

 

_Sunday, October 14th_

 

 

-”Absolutely not.”

-”Harry, come on. It’s for charity. You don’t even have to stay the whole time.”

Harry and Hermione had their own game of cat and mouse: from the beginning they both knew Harry would go to any sensible charity event that Hermione supported, but they still had to have the obligatory argument every time.

-”I don’t care.” Harry whined into the mobile phone Hermione stubbornly insisted he had to start using properly. It was propped against his shoulder while he was making tea. He still did not trust Archibald after the coffee grounds fiasco.

-”That’s a lie.” Harry could tell she was smiling. ”I promise, it’s going to be fun. It’s for Halloween!”  

-”Hermione, that’s not exactly a selling point when you’re 30, you know. Unless I get to wear a mask?” Perhaps it would be less unbearable if he could keep his anonymity, and avoid awful smalltalk with people who only cared to be seen with The Savior.

-”Masks are allowed, but I’m afraid not for you. Also you are 32.”

-”Great. Thanks for reminding me.” Harry said sarcastically. He absent-mindedly stroked the purring mug, and threw the used teabag into the garbage bin.  

-”You’ll be the face of the event, Harry, you can’t exactly not show it.” Well, she did have a point there.

That didn’t mean Harry liked it any better, though.

-”Ginny will be going too, for a bit.” Harry thought Hermione sounded a bit nervous, but he was probably imagining it. Sure, the tabloids always had a field day whenever Ginny and Harry both showed up to an event. Despite having been broken up publicly for ages, various rumors and speculations about the nature of their relationship would be resurrected as soon as they walked in. But Ginny was always a fun companion; she hated gala almost as much as Harry. Also, she never made him dance.

-”Please think about it?” Hermione asked. “I promise I will not force you to learn how to text message until Christmas at least. Although I do think you should, honestly.”

Harry sighed, but he was smiling. The events were a thorn in his side, but it _was_ for a good thing. Also, he’d probably do what he always did - survive the introduction with (a) champagne in his hand, test all the canapés with Ron, and hide from reporters in broom closets, until it was a reasonable time for him to go home without offending anyone. 

-”Right. I’ll think about it.”

 

 

 


	7. Chance Encounters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this one took so long!
> 
> semester has started a month ago, so I needed to find my rhythm :') I hope I can compensate with adding a lot more Draco! 
> 
> again, thank you @sappypotter for supporting me. I love you <3

_Monday, October 15_

 

Harry was leisurely walking through the Atrium of the Ministry after having handed in his report from Helgaskog. The ladies unfortunately could not avoid a fine, but he reckoned it was far preferable to getting sued. Nevertheless, they agreed to stay in touch should Tohn trouble them any further, and Harry promised he would stop by for tea if he found himself in nearby area. He wondered if there was a way to interview Ava’s grandmother, seeing as it wasn’t all that often one came across a practicing witch as old as her, especially not one privy to ancient arcane arts. She probably even had her own grimoire.

Harry sighed wistfully. He would not stoop so low as to exploit a possible friendship with Ava to snoop, but he wouldn’t exactly be telling the truth if he claimed he would not sell his left lung for copies of the possible grimoire, either.  

He passed the restored golden fountain - it seemed there have been no accidents involving vandalism or unintentional bathing that day yet - and instead of taking a turn to the lifts, he decided he would take a more scenic route to his office through a tiny muggle coffeeshop across the street. With Archibald still on protest mode, it was usually a pick between black muck or muddy bean water, neither of which particularly complemented Harry’s breakfast of toast and eggs. He really had no choice but to take his business to a place that would serve him coffee, rather than the motor oil resembling substance that has been currently on the menu.

As soon as he apparated outside, picking a relatively safe spot behind the garbage bins in a nearby alley (and terrifying a mangy cat in the process), he made a beeline to the café. It did not hold a candle to Madeleine’s place by far, but it was cozy, rarely crowded, and the coffee was more than good. Harry liked it; it was muggle, but it had a strange charm of a deliberately messy living room. The furniture was all different sizes, colours and shapes, often consisting of things intended for different functions altogether, or of plain junk. There were worn, but expensive looking arm chairs standing around repurposed wine barrels, coffee tables made of old piano parts (and Harry thought he saw one made of an old ironing board too), hats serving as lampshades, or plain light bulbs hanging in mason jars or old brass colanders. The bar was supported by stacks of old leather suitcases. The walls were mostly covered with overflowing bookcases, which was what sold the establishment to Hermione in a matter of seconds. They sometimes went there together if she happened to stop by, but usually it was just Harry and the current seasonal special in size large. On occasion he’d smuggle cake for Ron too, since his friend was rarely available enough to leave the building.

The day was unusually warm for October, warm enough that Harry immediately regretted not leaving behind his overcoat on the desk. Though the light breeze was pleasant against his face, ruffling his unruly hair into more of a stork’s nest, it was decidedly not enough to keep him from getting a heat stroke within five minutes.

Being almost at the door, Harry attempted to nonchalantly shrug off the coat. Remembering he was still wearing his work robes underneath, he attempted to drop them both with the coat conveniently covering the muggle-unfriendly garment. He quickly unbuttoned the deep green robes with a muttered charm, but soon discovered it was no good - he’d have to pull them over his head one way or another, if he wanted to undress to his very ordinary red cardigan and jeans.

He was cursing himself for not undressing out of sight, for he was sure he must have looked like an absolute lunatic. He could practically feel the burning eyes of amused spectators from inside the café, enjoying the show through the large shop windows: Harry was now awkwardly shuffling about and struggling to get out of his clothes with as much dignity as possible, _and_ without tripping over his feet. His glasses were painfully digging into his face as he was stuck in obnoxious tangled layers, sweating and trying not to rip anything, while at the same time keep from unintentionally stripping of the remaining outfit underneath.

-” _Merlin’s moldy balls_ ,” Harry groaned with irritation.

He managed to remove at least one arm from the mess, and cheered up at the thought of finally figuring a way out of this humiliating, self-inflicted  contraption. All of a sudden, he could hear the tiny bell softly ring as the door opened, and it was then that he made a fatal mistake: Harry tried to step out of the way, but it seemed he wasn’t the only one - whoever was on the way out clearly had the same thought and tried to dodge him. They collided, and Harry lost his balance at last. He bitterly hoped he would at least fall into a sewer, and be delivered from this agony.

But the impact never came. Something (a paper cup) bounced on the pavement, the contents (coffee) spilling with a wet splash. Before he could wonder about it, he found himself steadied, held in what could have been an almost graceful dip.

Harry thought he could hear people clapping.

-”I’m sorry, I think I spilled your coffee,” he said embarrassedly. He blurted out a weak, not at all awkward laugh, and did not in the least wish he could apparate to the North Pole while the stranger helped him regain his footing.

As soon as he stood upright, he of course managed to get out of the right layers of clothing with nigh lightning speed, afraid the stranger would attempt to assist him with that too (and Harry would really have to disapparate, Statute of Secrecy be damned), but he needn’t have worried. As soon as his vision was unobstructed, his face hot, sweaty fringe plastered to his forehead, he regretted not getting the chance to rather fall to his demise.

In front of him stood none other than Potions Master Malfoy, frowning and checking the damage by what turned out to be tea splashing on his fancy shoes and slacks. Harry had known that the universe hated him on principle, but meeting Malfoy under cringeworthy circumstances _again_ was really pushing it even by his standards.

-“Malfoy.”

It sounded like an observation when Harry said it, but in reality he was too stunned to come up with anything coherent.

Malfoy gave him a slightly irritated, but ultimately bored look.

-”You’re welcome.”   

Harry’s cheeks burned enough they must have been glowing despite his fairly dark complexion. He opened his mouth to apologise, only Malfoy must have decided by then that the casualties on his clothing were not immediately destructive; he turned on his heel and marched away, out of sight in the same alley Harry used to apparate in. Harry guessed he had not wanted the beverage after all.

What on earth was the ponce doing in a muggle café in the first place? As much as he tried to imagine Malfoy sitting behind what used to be an antique sewing machine, drinking tea and scrolling his ScryPhone, he couldn’t do it. Besides, it would imply Malfoy knew how to operate muggle currency. This in turn implied he knew how to operate anything muggle at all, which was scrambling Harry’s brains as it was.  

He still did not quite process the episode which just happened. The only feeling Harry could place for sure was his increasing annoyance at Malfoy’s dramatic silent exits. He’d almost prefer it if Malfoy cussed him out - why he’d caught Harry in the first place was still beyond him, but maybe he simply acted on impulse. The complete lack of acknowledgement of Harry’s existence, even if negative, was so completely unlike Malfoy that Harry did not know what to do with it, worse, it made him angry, and borderline frustrated. He felt almost betrayed - he’d known Malfoy, but this bloke?

Finally, with resignation Harry stepped inside the shop, pretending not to notice the customers eyeing him and winking at him. He didn’t really feel like getting anything anymore, but at the same time  stubbornly refused to deprive himself of a break because of an embarrassing encounter with Malfoy, of all people.

Besides, he’d be lying if he claimed the large caramel-coffee concoction with cream did not instantly improve his mood.

 

After calming down enough to forego a spontaneous nervous breakdown in nearby future, Harry stepped out of the shop ready to face the rest of the day head on. Armed with sweets for Ron and an extra  cup of steaming tea, he made a resolution to suck it up and confront his nemesis. He would offer to pay for Malfoy’s ruined clothes, and reimburse the spilled tea, as he would if it were anyone else. It was ridiculous; he refused to treat Malfoy different.  

He ignored his own subconsciousness mocking him with a pronounced ‘ _ha-ha-ha’,_ that may or may not have been sarcastic.

As soon as Harry was out of view in the alley, he insulated the cup with a heating charm, and held it carefully as he disapparated. He penned Malfoy for a traditional Earl Grey enthusiast, but since apparently this was a new Malfoy, the spiteful side of Harry prompted him to think out of the box. Hopefully New Malfoy liked indian chai.   

The Atrium was busy when he apparated, witches and wizards were hurriedly leaving for lunch break en masse. Harry dodged them with a rather ungraceful dance-step, raising the cup out of the way. It took him the better part of ten minutes to get to the stairs, and it was then that he realised he had no idea whether Malfoy even was back in his office yet. As a matter of fact, if he was working in the afternoon at all. He wondered if Hjort would tell him if he bribed him with Ron’s biscuits, and if he would even let him in the lab.

Shortly Harry found himself standing in front of the lab entrance, and immediately concluded getting inside would not be a problem. Strangely, the door stood ajar, with neither the assistant or any other employee in sight. Harry frowned.

He went in, and discovered the second door was open as well, or rather, not quite closed. Tentatively he stepped into the lab corridor, expecting to perhaps face an irritated Shiva running about, and subsequently having to explain himself. However, the hallway was deserted. He knew it was lunch break, the open doors probably an unfortunate coincidence, but he still thought it was weird as hell. Subconsciously, his hand went to the wand in the pocket of his robes.

He approached the door to Malfoy’s office, which unlike the previous ones was firmly closed, and reached out to briefly knock and enter. His hand was already on the doorknob, pushing it open when he heard raised voices from inside. He might have gotten away with the knocking, but that broom had already set off as soon as he touched the brass doorknob. With a wince and a prolonged internal scream, he watched the trainwreck featuring himself opening Malfoy’s mahogany door. The voices went quiet. Harry wished for lightning to kindly strike him from existence on the spot. What seemed to be an agonising million years later, the door revealed a very, _very_ angry-looking Malfoy, and a strange wizard Harry’s never seen before. He was tall, almost as tall as Malfoy, with auburn hair in a stylish cut, and the bluest set of eyes Harry has had the chance to witness in his life. The wizard was undeniably handsome, but his expression was difficult to read. He and Malfoy were both standing, although the stranger was casually leaning against Malfoy’s desk. He seemed unperturbed, as if they weren’t having a loud argument a minute ago. They were looking at Harry expectantly. Malfoy appeared to be two seconds from incinerating him on the spot. His slacks were still tea-stained.

It was the stranger who spoke first. Unfortunately for Harry, it was all French.

Ridiculously enough, even considering the circumstances he was caught by surprise. Even on a good day, Harry’s French was broken at best, and the confusion must have shown on his face, because the Frenchman turned back to address Malfoy. By the lilt of his voice, Harry guessed he asked a question. It sounded more mocking than pleasant, but Harry was willing to blame it on his own illiteracy in the foreign tongue.

Despite looking like he was about to commit homicide, Malfoy’s tone was perfectly controlled when he answered.

It had been obvious that Malfoy spoke the language, apparently having had a conversation with the French just now, but Harry still couldn’t help himself from staring. With a horror, Harry thought Malfoy sounded… sexy. His treacherous, ever so helpful mind at once supplied scenes from a dream Harry pretended he had forgotten: Malfoy’s flushed skin, kiss-swollen mouth hanging open as he-...

The french wizard blessedly broke Harry’s train of thought when he muttered some off-handed reply to Malfoy, and pushed to his feet. He made a hat-tipping gesture at Harry (which in Harry’s opinion should have looked ridiculous since he wasn’t wearing any hat, but instead was suave as hell), and smirked with a feral, but dashing smile. His hair was mussed up just right to seem carelessly ruffled (only on him it looked great - no matter how much he tried to tame his hair in the morning, Harry always looked as if he still had a bedhead by the time he arrived at the office). His robes too were clearly put together to create a fashionable illusion of having just grabbed the first thing on hand, but Harry would not be surprised to see the getup on a model. Hell, the French could really have been a model, for all Harry knew. His gait was confident as he strode towards the door, and Harry thought he say him wink at Malfoy before excusing himself. Not realising he had turned to watch the French wizard leave, he slowly faced Malfoy again.

He’d been squeezing the cup of tea dangerously tight. He took a breath, and before he could stop himself, he blurted out the first thing that came to his mind.

-”You speak French.”

Malfoy only looked at him in genuine surprise, and then did something incredible: he laughed.

It wasn’t a particularly cheerful laugh, but Harry was still in shock. Malfoy was laughing. Harry didn’t know Malfoy was physically able to laugh unless he was publicly humiliating some poor soul.

He almost caught it too, but finally Malfoy gathered himself:

-”Excellent deduction, Potter.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, as if that alone stopped him from disintegrating and ascending into a different dimension. His movements were stiff with tension. ”What the fuck are you doing here?”

-”I brought you tea.” Harry shoved the cup in Malfoy’s direction, but they were still standing too far. Realising this, in a brief panic Harry sent the cup levitating towards Malfoy, who swiftly caught it. He held it at arm’s length, as if he were holding a bomb.

-”Are you insane?” Malfoy asked him incredulously, his eyes flicking between the cup and Harry. “What makes you think I’m going to take tea from _you_? What is wrong with you? What-”

-”It’s not poisoned, you-” Harry rolled his eyes; he stopped himself from adding anything insulting, if barely. “Who was that?”

Judging by the scowl on Malfoy’s face, it was the wrong thing to ask. Instead of throwing the tea in Harry’s face though, he brought it closer and sniffed it.

-”Nobody. And it’s none of your bloody business.” He took a tiny sip from the cup, and immediately wrinkled his nose. “What sort of nonsense is this?”

He was an Earl Grey person, alright.

Harry could not believe what was happening. Malfoy did not seem to want to curse him _yet_ , but instead of excusing himself and leaving like a normal, respectable person while he had the chance, he decided to push a bit further. For some unfathomable reason, he was curious.

-”Chai. It’s spiced tea. Since when do you go to muggle places?”

-”It’s ruining perfectly good tea. And that concerns you how exactly? Why are you here again?”

Malfoy looked up from the tea. He was frowning again, challenging Harry with a sharp look.

-”I-...” Harry hesitated. He hoped he did not look as awkward as he felt. What _did_ he want there?

Malfoy was clearly waiting for an answer, but Harry didn’t know what to tell him.

Considering he still could not quite shake the image of a well-fucked Malfoy, he was doing a rather good job being intelligible. Because that’s how Malfoy looked in the dream: well fucked. Harry suddenly did not feel quite well himself.

-”Thank you for. Not letting me accidentally kill myself earlier? Sorry for spilling your tea. I brought you a new one.”

With every word he said aloud, Malfoy looked more and more like Harry was saying some really nasty things about his mother, and like he wanted to physically prevent Harry from continuing.

Harry sort of wished he would.

-”I have to go.” Harry hastily turned to leave just as Malfoy replied “yes”.

If he exited any faster, he’d be disapparating.

Still, as Harry was closing the door behind him, he spied Malfoy take another sip of the chai.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

-”You look like you had a Dementor-encounter,” Ron observed from his desk as soon as Harry walked inside his office.

-”Cheers. You don’t look so fresh yourself.” Harry threw himself into the visitor’s chair facing Ron, and remembering too late he probably sat on the biscuits in his pocket. Well.

Frowning in concentration, he fished out the slightly squished paper bag, and installed it in front of an amused Ron.

-”Gee, thanks. My favourite flavor: Fart.” This obviously did not stop him from digging inside the bag, and promptly stuff a biscuit in his maw.

-”Told you you’d warm to kissing Robards’ ass,” Harry teased, and ducked when Ron threw his quill at him. “...how’s that going for you, anyway?” He leaned back in the chair, and laced his fingers behind his head. He wanted to forget Malfoy as soon as possible.

Ron swallowed the biscuit, and sighed.

-”Just swell. Q owled me this morning by the way, I haven’t had the chance to write you, but it’s good that you stopped by. Apparently, there have been at least four suspicious deaths similar to Warwick and the floater on the muggle side. But, as per usual, the muggle department was very intent on “outsmarting” us again, so aside from a few reports and photos, we don’t have all that much material.”

Harry grimaced. He had not had trouble with muggle law enforcement himself, but by accounts of Ron and the other Aurors, they always made it a Science vs. Magic competition, with wizards as unwilling participants. ‘Nearly as bad as the Investigation Department’, Ron always used to say, ‘only these goons mostly fuck up beyond repair’.   

Ron shuffled around in his drawer, and swiftly produced a file for Harry to see.

-”Any connections to our victims at all?” He perused the document, carefully studying the gory photos. There were a lot of test results and terminology he was unfamiliar with, so that did not reveal much information.

-”Aside from the ripped out heart, and looking like they saw a Boggart? Not particularly.” Ron shook his head. “I sent a few undercover Aurors to interrogate families of the victims, but even there we seem to have obstacles - we know the identities of only two of the victims, and one of them appears not to have been in touch with her family at all, so we only have friends and acquaintances.”

Harry looked at his friend sympathetically. He suddenly felt guilty for not paying the files he had home enough attention yet, even though he knew rationally he’d been busy with his own assignments. Still, he was determined to properly study them as soon as he’d get off from work.  

-”I’m going to look into it as well, although to be honest I’m not sure what I can make of these,” he waved the files in his hands. Ron chuckled.

-”Yeah, I already sent a note to Q to please provide translation for us peons. Don’t worry about it too much by the way, I don’t really believe this can be a curse anymore. _Maybe_ a magical creature, but that’s a very strong maybe.”

Harry nodded. He didn’t think so, either, and if he were honest, he’d not heard of any magical creature deliberately picking its victims, which was more than likely the case here.

Ron was obviously, and understandably disheartened, but not defeated. It took more than a complicated case to topple Ron’s confidence.

-”I will have a look anyway - two heads are better than one, and all that?”

-”That’s what she said.” Ron said slyly, and Harry groaned. To be fair, he did hand Ron that one.

-”Really, Ronald?”

-”Well excuse me, Mother Superior.” Ron did not seem sorry in the least. Fortunately, he dropped it, and proceeded to stuff his face full of biscuits.

Harry really did not want to explain why sex was the last thing he wanted to think about at the moment.  

-”Are you coming to the Halloween charity Hermione called me about? And I mean called, not fire-called.”

-”You should consider not to fight her on this, trust me. You _will_ lose.” Ron shrugged between chewing. “Besides, those thingies are neat - they’re developing games for them now, apparently. Hugo is crazy about them - I think I managed to have a first full, undisturbed nap since Rose was born.”

-”You’re napping while Hugo’s roaming free?” Harry raised his eyebrows at his friend in amusement. He imagined Hermione would flay him if she knew.

Ron shaked his head, and laughed.

-”Nah, don’t worry. I set a sensor charm in the nursery, he so much as moves five inches in an unexpected direction and the whole house starts blaring.” By Ron’s looks, the charm was more than reliable. “He doesn’t when I give him the game, though. He’s practically glued to it.”

Harry still doubted Hermione would be too thrilled to discover this, but he also could understand Ron’s logic, especially under the pressure of the Warwick case. The bags under Ron’s eyes were becoming quite scary.

-”Fair. Are you coming to the thing, though? I hear Gin is attending as well?”

Ron looked surprised. “Is she? Nice. I don’t know whether I’m coming yet, depends on how the case will move forward, if it will.”

Harry nodded. He expected as much, although he still selfishly hoped Ron could free himself for one evening - gala events were marginally more bearable with Ron keeping him company.

At least Ginny would be there - it’s been a while since they teamed up and pranked the reporters, anyway.

 

 

***

 

 

 

It was early evening when Harry finally managed to pry himself from work. He sorted out his remaining cases for the month, scheduling trips outside of London as close to Teddy’s Quidditch matches as possible. He intended to visit his godson at least once more before the month was out. He was trying not to worry about the upcoming full moon, but by now it was clear all such attempts were futile - when it came to Teddy, Harry would morph into an insufferable worrywart. He tried as best as he could not to be suffocating and to give the boy as much space as he needed, but sometimes it was really difficult for Harry to estimate exactly how much that was supposed to be.

In the back of his mind, he was mulling over Ron’s case non-stop, but coming up empty every time. The amount of information provided by Ron was less than enough to determine a possible curse, but he was resolved to properly go over the files back home before pestering Ron about interviewing Warwick’s family. It was one of the strangest cases Harry has ever encountered, and he’d be lying if he claimed he was not intrigued himself at this point.

The day was still fairly warm - the sun was low at this time, and cast a wonderful warm glow on the usual grey of London streets. Harry thought it would be a shame not to exploit the nice weather, and he decided take a walk before going home. He still needed to stop by at the grocer’s either way - Molly’s provisions were running out at an alarming speed, and it was time he made himself an actual meal instead of eggs and bacon.

Apparently, he was not the only one with this idea. For Monday late afternoon, Diagon Alley was crowded with witches and wizards: the shops and taverns alike were busy with customers, and Harry noticed some of the pubs even set up seating outside in the street. The smell of food and the cheerful atmosphere all around him was tempting, and suddenly Harry regretted not having asked any of his friends to keep him company, although he did imagine everyone would be busy anyway - Ron would probably still be at the Ministry, Hermione would be home with Hugo, Dean had an art exhibition in Edinburgh, and Luna was god knows where studying whatever strange species she’s encountered last.

He made his way through the rush of Diagon Alley as incognito as possible, occasionally giving in to wave back to tiny children (who never failed to bust him even if their parents did). Before getting the groceries, he thought he’d pay a long-due visit to Maddie - he still owed her the catch-up. The traffic became less hectic as he neared Carkitt Market, and by the time he arrived in front of the pâtisserie, he was pleasantly tired from the walk, and ready for a nice cup of coffee and gossip.

From outside, the french shop didn’t seem to be bursting at the seams, but it wasn’t empty like last time. Harry pushed the glass door open, and breathed in the comforting smell of baked goods and coffee. He turned to greet Madeleine, when he noticed her chatting with a customer at the bar, a customer who suspiciously looked like-

-”Harry!” She was enthusiastically waving at him. It sounded more like _‘Arry_ when Madeleine said his name - unlike with Fleur, he found her accent endearing. “How nice to see you! What have you been up to? You never come here anymore,” she frowned. “Allow me to introduce, _Monsieur_ Malfoy,” she nodded to him, ever so courteous when it wasn’t just Harry in the shop, “he’s recently returned to England from France. Imagine, he comes from the same town as I? We’ve been just discussing how we can never get used to this dreadful weather.” Madeleine laughed cheerfully.

Harry did not know what expression he was wearing, but he was guessing it may have been similar to Malfoy’s. He looked like he ate a flobberworm.

-”We’ve...met.” Harry thought he heard Malfoy choke. Would this day never end? Was he cursed?

-” _Pour de vrai_? Excellent.” Madeleine clapped her hands together. “Let me make you gentlemen a nice cup of coffee. You don’t mind if I join you in a bit?” A line had been forming behind them while Madeleine made introductions. Harry supposed he should have expected that. They both awkwardly hurried out of the way, in process of which Malfoy stepped on Harry’s foot. Waiting on the other side of the bar, neither of them seemed to know quite what to do. The witches and wizards whose order had been taken started crowding the small space as they waited for Maddie. The coffee machine was whirring contentedly as it filled multiple cups with different kinds of coffee; the desserts were levitating each to their designed plate, and the small silver spoons and dessert forks softly clinked against the porcelain. The napkins were charmed to fold into blooming flowers. Even having seen it a million times at least, Harry enjoyed watching Madeleine’s swift wandwork.

He was also painfully aware of how close Malfoy was standing, close enough that Harry could smell faint hints of his aftershave in the air around him. It was a pleasant, citrusy scent. Malfoy was watching the napkins fold, turned away from Harry, but not really able to place more distance between them because of the commotion.

-”Are you following me?” He suddenly asked, not looking away from the napkin-roses. His tone was bored, again.

-”Excuse me?” Harry thought he didn’t hear him right. “Why the bloody hell would I do that?” He was unfortunately not as successful in hiding the indignation from his tone.

Malfoy ignored him. It irked Harry to no end.

-”It’s not my fault you keep showing up to places I frequent,” Harry muttered. Malfoy was fidgeting with the ring on his finger. Harry couldn’t stop looking.

-”Yes, like my office at the laboratory, you mean? I thought I made it clear I did not want you to bother me again.”

Harry could feel his blood pressure increase tenfold. “I was just trying to-”

Malfoy finally turned around to face him, and studied Harry suspiciously. Harry hated himself for stammering, hated himself for feeling the heat rise in his cheeks again, hated himself for trying to be a decent person to Malfoy when obviously he did not care a whit for it. He forgot what he wanted to say, too.

Malfoy was frowning, the same spoiled pout playing on his lips like when he was a brat at school, but there was not the expected malice in his look. Irritation, yes, but mostly confusion, as if Harry were a particularly persistent gnat Malfoy thought he’d squished several times already.

-”I would appreciate it if you quit-”

-”I am not. Following you.” Harry exclaimed. An older witch close to them turned curiously, but he ignored her.

Malfoy’s face went blank. “Fine. Whatever.” He focused his attention back on the napkins, his back to Harry. Even through the snug black sweater Harry noticed Malfoy’s shoulders were wide. He was leaner in build compared to Harry, but he was taller, with long legs and narrow hips. Malfoy’s wand was poking out of the pocket of his trousers, different from the stained slacks he had at work. Harry was sure they were tailored as well, complimenting Malfoy in all the right places.  

Harry could feel a light prickle on his skin, and when he looked up he saw the curious witch watch him amusedly with raised eyebrows, and a mischievous smile.

Before Harry could implode in horror over having essentially checked out _Malfoy_ and being caught doing it too, a cup of coffee was gently pressed into his hand, and a colourful paper bag in the other.      

-”Gentlemen,” Madeleine smiled apologetically, ”I am sorry for the delay. I added a small offering for your troubles.” She gestured to the paper bags.

-” _Merci, Madame_. I’m afraid I will have to join your pleasant company another time, as I have obligations to attend to still.” Malfoy smiled and nodded to Maddie. He looked like he was polyjuiced. Maddie looked like she would faint, all but charmed off her pants. Harry felt nauseous.

-”Of course, of course! You are welcome to return any time. Have a good evening!” Madeleine was positively beaming. With a wave of her wand, she transfigured the porcelain into a paper cup, matching the colour of the bag.

Malfoy thanked her again, excused himself with a polite bow, and left the pâtisserie. Through the shop window,  Harry spied him disapparating.

-”Isn’t he delightful?” Maddie’s head was still cocked to the side from watching Malfoy’s ass when he left.

-”Not really. I think there’s drool on your chin, ‘Madame’.”

She flung a dirty dishrag in Harry’s face.   

 

 

***

 

 

_Thursday, October 18th_

_Late night_

 

The pleasant scent of Malfoy was overwhelming Harry’s senses. Malfoy’s form was warm, curled against him in Harry’s bed. Harry could feel him smirking against his neck as he was exploring Harry’s body with the palm of his hand. Harry liked his hands very much; while they weren’t soft, they were strong and gentle, with long, dexterous fingers.

-”Hey…,” Harry murmured sleepily, “what are you doing?” His eyes were closed, but he was smiling.

Malfoy just continued stroking Harry’s chest, down, over his belly, to the bones of his hips. He bit Harry playfully in the neck when his hand dipped even lower, and he curled his fingers around Harry’s half-hard cock. Harry groaned as Malfoy gave him a firm stroke.

He was silenced when Malfoy leaned over him, and kissed him hungrily. Harry pulled Malfoy on top, and he let him pepper the skin of his neck with kisses, licking and biting under his scratchy jaw while he pleasured Harry with his hand.

Harry liked his hands very much.

He was moaning unrestrainedly, giving in to the sensation. His heart was racing, and there was something warm coiling in his belly, prompted by Malfoy’s greedy touch. Malfoy was whispering something in his ear, but Harry could not remember what.

Malfoy knew how to touch Harry: just how firm to hold him, how to tease the wet slit on the head of his cock to drive him crazy. Harry was bucking against Malfoy, his needy whines broken by Malfoy’s kisses, mingling with his breath. Harry soon spilled over Malfoy’s fist, releasing the breath he didn’t realise he was holding.

When he opened his eyes, Malfoy was gone.

 

Disoriented, he sat up on the bed in the dark of his bedroom, trying to regain some semblance of consciousness. He did not have to check underneath the sheets to know there was an embarrassing mess in his underwear.

-”Bloody hell.” He muttered to nobody at all, and brushed the hair from his eyes.

It wasn’t the first time he’d had this dream, not even the first time the dream featured Malfoy only. However, it was the first time that Harry had not stubbornly woken up and resisted, but instead yielded to the familiarity and  pleasure. The first time in years since he came in his pants like a teenager, too. And, as if it weren’t enough, he had liked it.

He felt humiliated by his own conscience, confused and ashamed; worst of all, the first seconds after waking up and realising it had been a dream, he felt lonely.

He wished he could undo it. He wanted to frustratedly yell into his pillow, to yell at Draco-bloody-Malfoy, to yell at anyone at all, and preferably to obliviate himself. But he did none of the things. Instead, he slowly gathered himself, tossed the dirty boxers into the laundry bin in the corner, and went to the bathroom.  

On his way back to bed, from his stash he grabbed a flask of Dreamless Sleep. Harry had wanted to wean himself off entirely, but tonight he simply did not have enough fucks left to give. In one long gulp, he downed half of the small flask, and crawled back into bed.

 

   

 


	8. Tough as nails

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for your patience. Life happened to me, but I should be able to resume posting as normal from now on.
> 
> xo

_ Friday, October 19th _

  
  


Harry woke up to a loud  _ thump! _ from the direction of his window, followed by frantic rapping against the glass pane. Disoriented and with the grace of a newborn fawn, he hobbled towards the sound.  He stepped carefully, with outstretched arms like a blind man reaching for possible obstacles in his way, until he felt the cold glass against his palm. His vision was swimmy without his glasses, with an extra oily finish thanks to the pounding headache he was currently sporting. Cursing under his breath, he briefly fumbled with the lock, and finally managed to pry the creaking window open. 

Immediately, he nearly got knocked to the ground when a clumsy owl flew right into his face.    

-”Bloody--!” Harry yelped, and tried to wrestle the distressed bird away from him. Getting his eyes pecked out was about the last thing he needed that morning. Or any morning, as a matter of fact. 

The owl managed to manoeuvre itself away from Harry’s grasp, and drunkenly fluttered onto the bed. There, it started picking at its feathers and ruffling them into their previous fashion, all while hooting offendedly at Harry.          

-” _ Accio _ glasses,” Harry mumbled, and stretched out his hand expectantly. Promptly, the glasses propelled from their designated place on Harry’s nightstand and landed into his open palm. He soon discovered they did not improve his sight as much as he had hoped, but at least now he could identify the feathered culprit. Errol II was still smoothing out his feathers on the bed, much to Harry’s anguish. As best as he was able to in his state, he hurried to relocate the successor to the Weasley family’s owl line onto the window sill. It was impossible to tell if Errol wouldn’t decide to eject undigested mice leftovers from his stomach at any given moment, a fact that Harry had learned the hard way. He’d much prefer if such an incident didn’t directly involve his bed. 

Patiently, he untied the scroll attached to Errol’s leg and furrowed his brow at the tiny, hastily-scribbled handwriting:

 

_ Harry, _

 

_ I’m sorry, but I will be running late to lunch - Hugo had a misunderstanding with a stray kneazle this morning. It’s nothing serious, I think, but I’d rather make him a disinfecting poultice just in case. If anything should change, I will  _ _ call _ _ you.  _

 

_ thanks, _

_ H. _

 

Alarmed, Harry cast Tempus. The delicate golden mist swirled above his palm and spelled out 11:34 AM. He cursed; even if she were delayed, it was unlikely that Hermione would arrive much later than they had agreed. Harry barely had half an hour before he was expected to meet his friend in Diagon Alley for lunch - definitely not enough time to get himself sorted out and resemble a functional human being. 

Ignoring the persistent pressure in his head and the increasing nausea as best as he could, he rushed into the bathroom and climbed under a cold shower, trying not to kill himself in the process. He forgot to take off his glasses. 

Ten minutes later he was hopping around the bedroom, struggling to get into his jeans, all while frantically brushing his teeth. Miraculously, he did not fall on his face. He finally buttoned them up and leaned into the bathroom, where he spit into the basin. He pulled on a simple t-shirt and a flattering green sweater. It took a while to locate his shoes but they finally emerged, albeit separately -- one at the foot of the stairs, and the other buried in the depths of his closet. Normally, Harry would have devoted at least a fleeting, exasperated thought to the mess, but all of his remaining brain activity was focused solely on leaving the apartment on time. It wasn’t that Hermione wouldn’t have waited for him -- both Harry and Hermione were nearly equally as bad at being punctual, although for different reasons. It was the appointment later that he ought not miss. Harry already suspected that lunch would have to be a very swift affair, but since he still felt like somebody beat him to a pulp overnight, he did not mind much. 

It had been a while since he last used Dreamless Sleep. He was determined not to do it again any time soon-- he had barely managed to wean himself off, and was not about to risk falling down that slippery slope once more. While immensely effective, Dreamless Sleep was addictive, and had the dismal side effect of making Harry feel entirely wretched in the morning. At first, he had vastly preferred the hangover in favour of the nightmares, but soon discovered that the potion only fed into the vicious cycle of sleeplessness. Of course, Harry wasn’t the only one troubled by traumatic dreams - the horrors of war took a toll on nearly everyone around him, and several of his friends found themselves in periods of voluntary and involuntary insomnia for months after. 

However, while people around him seemed to gradually recover, Harry had been stuck. He wasn’t able to sleep without the support of the potion at all. When he exhausted himself enough to collapse into bed, he would wake up screaming, and rapidly descend into debilitating panic attacks. It took a long time, but eventually he learned how to deal with the panic, and with the help of Ginny and his friends slowly gained control over his addiction. For the past few years, Harry was generally able to sleep unaided. 

Unless he had wet dreams about Draco Malfoy, apparently.

Harry checked one last time for any irregularities to his clothing. It wouldn’t be the first time he went out with his shirt hurriedly put on upside-down, or bits of toothpaste in his goatee. He noticed he needed a trim. And probably an exorcist, by the looks of the bags under his eyes and sallow skin.

-”Well. Doesn’t get much worse,” Harry muttered to himself and sighed. 

-”Can’t argue with that,” the mirror remarked dryly. 

Harry rolled his eyes. 

  
  


***

 

 

They were standing in front of the tall brick building that loomed close to the corner of Diagon Alley, near the offices of the _ Daily Prophet _ . Harry leaned back and looked up at the top floor. It was a modern addition to the otherwise old building, with the front made entirely of reflective glass that shimmered in the October sun. Harry shielded his eyes.

-”I can’t believe you dragged me here. How much do you think it cost her?” Harry asked, turning to Hermione. 

-”Too much.”

 

The shop front was a charming floristry shop, complete with an adjacent greenhouse. The air was heavy with a plethora of scents and smells which ambushed Harry’s nose from the door. Plants of all kinds were all but spilling from every corner. Thick vines that covered most of the ceiling hung like garlands, and several fairies were gathering around the blooming buds. Colourful insects were humming all around, mixing with the background noise some of the sentient plants made as they went about their business. There were shelves stacked with decorative flowers all over, but also medicinal herbs that were separated behind the florist’s workbench. Self-watering desk cacti and succulents were peppered all over the shop, tucked between the larger plants like an afterthought. 

Harry and Hermione hurried to the unassuming, moss-covered door near the back, and passed to the building’s lobby. Harry thought it was like walking through a portal to a different world: the shabby brick wall added to the claustrophobic effect of the candlelit room, and there was a vague whiff of stale cigarette smoke coming from the spiral staircase. They briskly walked to the tiny lift next to it.  

As soon as they got off, Harry and Hermione were greeted by an enthusiastic, flamboyant wizard, who nearly catapulted himself from behind the reception desk when he saw them. He immediately attacked Harry, proceeding to shake his hand vigorously enough to pull it out of its socket. 

-”So nice to see you! It’s been so long!” The wizard exclaimed, positively giddy with glee. He leaned in and kissed both of them on their cheeks. 

-”It’s nice to see you too, Lambert,” Hermione said with a smile. 

-”Hi, Lambert! Is the dragon lady here yet?” Harry asked jokingly. As soon as the words left his mouth, he heard the swish of a spell and suddenly found himself toppling onto the ground as his jellied legs gave way. Hermione gave him an exasperated look. 

-”You asked for it. Also, you’re late,” a bored voice announced from behind them. Leaning in the doorway to her studio stood a tall woman with a chic bob, dressed in a little black dress with a provocative lace front.

-”Sorry, Pans.” Hermione stepped over Harry’s prone form to greet Pansy Parkinson, the owner and creator of  _ Parkinson _ , one of the most prominent and sought-after fashion brands in the wizarding world. 

-”That was entirely unnecessary,” Harry grumbled as he gathered himself off the floor. Pansy gave him a sly smirk. “Perhaps,” she said. “But it was funny.”

They left Lambert at the front desk and made their way inside the studio. Apart from the glass windows that covered the entire front wall, it also had enormous skylights installed in the slanted high ceiling. Harry thought it had a strange, but pleasant, industrial vibe. The studio was quite unlike anything that was considered traditional where wizarding design was concerned, but it still managed to perfectly complement the old building it was attached to. 

-”I like what you’ve done with the place,” Harry said as he inspected the exposed steel beams overhead. Pansy shrugged, but they knew very well that she was secretly proud of her little empire. 

Hermione sat down on a very expensive-looking leather couch and accepted the glass of water that Pansy had floated her way. “Thank you for agreeing to this.” Hermione said.    

Pansy scoffed. ”Don’t be ridiculous. It’s not often I get to showcase my work on the Chosen One.” To support the charity gala, Pansy would be auctioning off a few of her dresses and robes, including the design Harry was supposed to wear that night. She turned to Harry, who started to protest the ridiculous nickname. “Now don’t just stand there, and get undressed.”      

  
  
  
  


***

  
  


-”Are you all right? No offence, but you look like shit.” 

It was a bold statement from someone who hadn’t slept soundly since 1990, but Ron seemed genuinely concerned. He watched as Harry all but dropped onto the visitor’s chair, every bit as elegant as a sack of turnips. Unfortunately, after a few hours spent at Pansy’s being turned into a human pincushion, his hangover had somehow worsened. He had an abominable headache, and his whole body felt heavy and sluggish, as if he was moving through porridge.

-”It’s nothing.” Harry waved him off. “I’m sorry I’m late. What do you have for me?” 

Ron nodded, picking up on the familiar cue. Ron never pressured him into talking when he did not wish to, a quality that Harry dearly treasured amongst his friends. Instead, he produced a dangerously overflowing case file and gestured for Harry to take a look. 

-”These are the reports on all of the victims, plus photographs. Robards is starting to get desperate, and, frankly, I am too. We are doing everything we can to keep the investigation under wraps, but it won’t hold up for too much longer.”

Harry studied the file in front of him. There really wasn’t much to go on -- the victims seemed to have nothing in common, although with the exception of the late Warlock Warwick, they came from a poor social background. Not everyone could be properly identified, but unfortunately, that’s where the similarities stopped. The victims were from both the Muggle and wizarding worlds, belonging to different age groups and genders, and had been found in various locations around the UK. It wasn’t even clear whether the number of reported fatalities was final. The only consistent motif was the victims’ disturbing condition: all were paralysed wearing a mute scream, with their hearts carved out. 

-”We traced them for spells, but didn’t find anything that would suggest the Killing Spell or any other Unforgivable. Or, for that matter, any spell that could result in their deaths. Nothing.” Ron suddenly looked more tired than Harry felt. “We weren’t able to check out the Muggle victims yet, although I am still trying to get the liaison to see what they can on that front.” 

-”I don’t suppose there’s a weird, heart-eating basilisk roaming about the sewers of Britain.”

Ron gave Harry a lopsided smile and shook his head. “Not likely. Believe me, I thought of that overgrown maggot too when I saw Warwick, but the Beast Division assured me that it was out of the question.”

-”Can a pocket-sized basilisk kill you?” Harry mused. 

-”I hear that they can stun you into a coma, at most. I’ve already confronted the Beast Division with my conspiracy theory. The tamers were delighted to explain that it was virtually impossible for just anyone to successfully breed a basilisk, let alone control it. So no - there is no nutter casually carrying a miniature basilisk while offing people, and cutting out their hearts for Merlin knows what.” 

Harry’s mouth twitched, but he suppressed his need to laugh at the image. 

-”Besides, as far as we are concerned, you are the only known Parselmouth in Britain, so unless you’d like to confess to the crimes and save my face, I think we can conclude this line of thought.” 

-”In my capacity as the Saviour, I declare that your face is beyond help.”

Ron flipped him off.

From what he’d gathered in the report on, Harry was pretty confident that the killings were not the result of a curse. The more victims appeared, the less probable it became. For one - despite there being no apparent relation between the victims - it was unlikely to be purely coincidental that they were people who were difficult to identify, people that nobody would immediately look for. Harry didn’t know what role Warwick played in the sequence of crimes, but he was convinced that there was some underlying connection that the investigators must have overlooked. In his experience, few curses were that selective. The handful of curses that were able to do so were usually hereditary, bound to a whole lineage or to blood. The only theory that looked feasible to Harry was that instead of the victims, it was the perpetrator who was cursed. The problem was that Harry was not familiar with any curse that carried such effects as described by the reports. 

But if it would help Ron, he was determined to find it.

-”I don’t know if I‘m competent to help, but if I can be of any assistance, you can count me in.” Harry duplicated the file with a flick of his wrist. 

-”Thanks, you show-off. Owl me if you come across anything.”

-”Of course.” 

Harry got up from the chair. He shrank the documents and unceremoniously stuffed them into the pocket of his jacket - seeing as he’d only come to the Ministry to meet Ron, he hadn’t bothered with wearing his robes. It was late in the afternoon, and his only wish was to go home and confine himself to the couch. There were household chores that desperately needed catching up with, but Harry couldn’t be arsed. He would spend his Friday night eating leftover pasta, and perhaps watching Quidditch on the telly - one of the few, newer magitech devices he actually used.  

With a nod in Ron’s direction, he strode towards the door and almost collided with Draco Malfoy on his way out. For a moment, Harry stood frozen in the doorway, staring at Malfoy in confusion as if he were an apparition.

Malfoy scowled. ”Weasley; I can come by with the results later if it doesn’t suit you now. But I’d appreciate it if, the next time, you’d let me know when you couldn’t make the appointment, and not waste my time.” 

Judging by Ron’s prolonged sigh, Harry imagined he was rolling his eyes. 

-”No need. We’ve just finished.”

-”Brilliant. Is there a way to move this oaf so I can come in, or do you want to go to my office instead?”

Embarrassed, Harry hastily shuffled out of the way and let Malfoy through. The whole situation caught him so off guard that he wasn’t able to process the information at all. He knew that Malfoy was involved in forensics; it just never quite dawned on him that it meant Malfoy would be working together with Ron. Before he managed to come up with a satisfactory comeback, Malfoy waved his hand, and the door shut in Harry’s face. Again. 

  
  


***

  
  
  


_ Tuesday, October 23rd _

 

Because there still was no sign of Agent Brecher, the mood in the Curse-breaker subdivision at the Ministry was becoming increasingly grumpy. The agents were recently tasked with dividing up the entirety of their colleague’s agenda instead of only those cases marked as urgent, in addition to their own assignments. This was particularly annoying because not everyone was familiar with Brecher’s branch of expertise, so the distribution of work was uneven, requiring a lot of shuffling of half-finished files. 

That meant longer working hours, but Harry did not mind - he was having a good week. He made a conscious decision to focus on being productive, and to stop wasting time pondering things he had no control over. Especially if those things were dreams of a questionable nature, and also the sudden presence of a certain Potions Master in his orbit. Over the weekend, he scoured the whole house into a habitable state, did his laundry and groceries, and sorted the long-overdue mail. He cooked enough food to feed a small army of Teddys to satisfaction, and finally coaxed the coffee machine into cooperation without incident. To top it off, in his sudden motivational streak, he went running for two mornings in a row - although to be fair, he almost went into cardiac arrest within ten minutes both times, much to his anguish. 

Needless to say, Harry felt like a slightly out-of-shape, but finally responsible, adult. 

He was at his desk at work, doing routine security checks of recently-confiscated magical objects, when a large eagle owl flew into the open space and dropped a scroll in front of him. Harry set aside the ocularum he was working on and frowned when he noticed the Hogwarts seal. He carefully turned the scroll over in his hands, as if anticipating that it might suddenly combust. It wasn’t so unusual for Harry to receive personal letters at work, because only a few select individuals had access to his home address. Hogwarts’ staff owls counted amongst that group. Harry opened the parchment; as he read the letter, he could feel his heart sinking with every word. It was Teddy.  

Harry scrawled a note, folded it into an airplane, and sent it flying in the direction of Ron’s office. The Curse-breakers worked mainly on commission, so nobody much cared whether Harry left the Ministry early, but Harry thought it couldn’t hurt to let him know where he’d rushed off to. Harry made several quick adjustments to the ocularum and put it in his desk drawer before heading out. 

He stopped by Grimmauld Place to pack a change of clothes. Afterwards, he went to the small shed in his backyard that he purportedly used as a workshop, but served mainly as a garage for Sirius’ bike. From what he was able to decipher from Madam Pomfrey’s handwriting, Teddy was weak, but his state was stable. She had given him the Sleeping Draught and didn’t expect him to wake up for several hours, so Harry could afford to fly. 

He silently cursed himself. After a few heated outbursts from Teddy, Harry had promised that he would refrain from mother-henning him every month after full moon, as long as Teddy called the next day over the two-way mirror to let Harry know he was all right. At first, Teddy had protested, but when he realised that Harry wouldn’t budge, he reluctantly agreed to such an arrangement. Teddy gave Harry a scare by forgetting once or twice over the first few years - which resulted in some harsher lecturing than Harry was used to give, but since then, Teddy had made good on his word. Harry had ceased worrying so much, and he grew used to receiving a tap on his mirror at some point in the evening, although he carried it with him all day, just in case. Trying not to give in to his anxiety, he started the large motorbike, and set out.   

  
  


***

  
  


 

Madam Pomfrey met him at the staff entrance to the hospital wing. During the restoration work on the castle, the wing was enlarged and separated into several sections, including one private extension for the few werewolf children who attended Hogwarts. It was accessible either directly through the nurse’s office, or through an inconspicuous, but carefully guarded door leading from outside the castle. Harry could get in only if he first announced himself with a Patronus.

-”Hello, Poppy,” he said, leaning in to kiss her cheek. Unlike his relationship with McGonagall, they’d become familiar with each other over time. “What happened?” 

Madam Pomfrey grimaced and lead him through the corridor to the nurse’s room. “We don’t really know. He had his potion and settled in his quarters for the night as usual. You know his room is separated a bit further from the others.” Harry nodded. They stopped at the door to her office. 

Teddy helped the younger kids whenever he could, but he wasn’t allowed to be quite that close during the full moon. Thanks to the Wolfsbane Potion, there really wasn’t a safety risk - the werewolves usually settled down and slept through the night like everyone else - but Pomfrey, as well as Harry, wanted to spare Teddy from listening to the transformations. The potion let the users retain consciousness, but they had yet to discover an improved version that would ease their pain. 

-”It’s my fault. I was watching the children while they turned so they wouldn’t accidentally hurt themselves, and went to check on Mr Lupin last. I always see him, although he’s usually fast asleep by then - the potion has a strong sedative quality, as you know. This time, he had a bad seizure. He calmed down after I gave him the full dose, but he managed to break his wrist, and his heart rate was through the roof. It’s nothing I can’t fix, but he’s weak and needs bed rest. For a few days at least, to be on the safe side.” Madam Pomfrey sounded devastated, but it was nothing compared to what Harry felt. He thought he’d crawl out of his skin, and could barely contain himself from rushing to Teddy. 

-”Can I see him?” 

-”Of course.”

Quietly, they entered the infirmary. The other children were resting in their own rooms, supervised by a discreet Healer’s assistant, but Teddy had been moved so that he was directly under Pomfrey’s nose. Harry immediately located the shock of blue hair sticking out from underneath the blanket in one of the beds. Apart from Teddy, the large hall was deserted. His godson still seemed to be asleep. Harry carefully came closer, trying not to disturb him. His heart broke at the sight of Teddy, as it always did after seeing the boy post-full moon. Teddy lay curled on his side, his broken hand awkwardly sticking out in a cast. He was as pale as death, with dark circles under his eyes. Harry also discovered that he wasn’t sleeping.

Harry conjured a chair and slid it next to the hospital bed. He sat down and rested with elbows on his thighs,  leaning in to get a better look at Teddy.

-”Hello Mr Lupin,” he smiled. He tried very hard not to sound as concerned as he was - Teddy had a tendency to clam up whenever he felt coddled. 

-”Hi.” Teddy’s voice was hoarse. He shut his eyes, and Harry suddenly realised that the boy was trying not to cry. Harry never considered himself a particularly violent person, but for a second, he wished that Greyback were still alive only so that he could dismember and kill him in a very slow, meticulous manner. Teddy was naturally the opposite of fussy, and hated to draw attention to himself whenever he was hurt or vulnerable. This was bad.

From behind Teddy’s back, Madame Pomfrey quietly tapped her watch, signalling Harry. She showed him five fingers before retreating to her office. 

Harry reached out and brushed the hair from Teddy’s eyes, and squeezed his shoulder gently. For a while, the boy said nothing, but Harry could feel him tremble ever so slightly. He soothingly stroked Teddy’s arm. Slowly, Teddy seemed to calm down, and Harry could see as Teddy steadied himself.

-”I guess I’m not playing in the match on Saturday,” he observed dryly, inspecting his injured hand. Harry wanted to hug him, but he didn’t think Teddy would appreciate it. 

-”Madam Pomfrey says you’ll need a few days to recover.”

-”Mhmm. Figured as much.” He hesitated. “ Why are you here?” Teddy’s gaze locked onto the wall next to Harry. Harry knew he was trying not to show it, but the kid was scared. 

-”Don’t be silly; I came to see you. You had a rough night.” Harry half-expected Teddy to protest such a suggestion as he usually did, but in the end, he said nothing. This unnerved Harry even more.

-”I suppose.” Teddy’s stare was blank, and still firmly trained on the wall. “What is happening to me?” he asked softly, finally looking at Harry. 

Harry had anticipated the question, but it still felt like a punch to the gut. What could he say?  For years, Teddy’s condition had been stable. He had been taking Wolfsbane every month since he was about ten years old, when the paralysing episodes reached their peak, but he’d suffered from the lunar effect for at least five years prior to that. Harry had no idea how much Teddy remembered from the times before he started becoming moon-sick at all. The changes in Teddy’s symptoms were sneaky and irregular, but they gradually accumulated into extremely painful and uncontrollable seizures which, in the end, prompted the inclusion of Wolfsbane Potion in his treatment. Harry had had a serious fight with Andromeda at that time. 

He let go of Teddy’s shoulder and leaned back a little as he mulled over his answer.

-”We don’t know, bug. Pomfrey says it was a bad seizure, but apparently it stopped once she gave you the full dose of Wolfsbane. It could have been a one-time thing--at least, we hope that’s the case. But if it happens again, I’ll owl Healer Crowe and set up an appointment. We’ll figure it out.” Harry did his best to both carefully tell Teddy the truth, and at the same time, to sound reassuring, but he could see that Teddy was becoming increasingly disheartened by his words. He would do anything to be able to take away Teddy’s plight, but he was helpless against the unpredictable situation, and he hated himself for it. He was failing his godson.

-”Right.” 

-”Teddy-”

-”I’m tired, Harry.” Teddy closed his eyes again. He looked drained, and older than he had any right to look. Harry sighed. He stood up and Vanished the chair.

-”I’ll be staying in Hogsmeade overnight, I’ll come and see you tomorrow before heading back. Would you like to go home for a while, until you feel better?” They could take the Express, Harry thought. He was sure Hagrid would gladly take care of the motorbike until he came back to fetch it. 

Teddy shook his head slightly. “No, thank you.” 

Harry expected as much; it didn’t stop him from feeling selfishly disappointed. He forced a smile though, and carefully ruffled Teddy’s hair. “I’ll see you tomorrow, bug. I love you.”

He was almost at the door when Teddy’s voice carried to him: “Yeah. I love you too, Harry.”

Madam Pomfrey was waiting for him in the nurse’s room. Harry was quiet. He let himself be escorted to the exit, where he gathered himself at last. He turned towards Pomfrey. “What do you think caused a reaction like that? Do you think it will happen again?” To his surprise, he managed to keep his tone neutral and under control.

Pomfrey offered a tired shrug. “I don’t know. I examined everyone in the morning as I always do, but none of the children seemed to have experienced anything unusual, and I am positive there were no incidents during the night, either. I couldn’t identify anything as a direct cause. I even reviewed Crowe’s observations for possible reference. I will keep an eye on young Mr Lupin until next month, and personally supervise him during the full moon.” Harry must have looked skeptical, because she pouted and gave him a well-meaning thump on his arm. “Stop being so glum. The boy’s as tough as nails - tougher than his parents, even. Give him some credit.” Harry relaxed slightly. The mention of Tonks and Remus cheered him somewhat. Pomfrey was right; Teddy was a fighter. His parents would have been proud of him, same as Harry. 

-”Thanks, Poppy. I appreciate everything you do for Teddy, and for me, too.”

She waved him off. “Don’t mention it. Try not to stress too much - chances are, it was an isolated event. I will contact Crowe, however, and ask his advice on what to prepare for, and whether it is safe to give Mr Lupin a full dosage again. In case the seizures do return.”

-”Better safe than sorry,” Harry agreed, taking a deep breath. Madame Pomfrey looked at him sympathetically.

-”I’m afraid there isn’t much more that we can do, Harry. It could be a change in his symptoms again, as they have before.”

Harry returned her look with a sombre smile. “That’s exactly what I’m worried about.”  


End file.
